Tea and Angels
by awaysheflew
Summary: There's something not-quite-right about Harry beneath the surface. Ron is not as stupid as he looks. I spend most of my time talking to a blue tea cup decorated with cats. Oh, and Draco Malfoy is currently shackled in our basement. [edited]
1. It Started With A Tea Cup

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It Started With A Tea Cup

The chipped blue teacup decorated with mangy looking cats was staring at her. 

Half empty. Half cold. She and the teacup had a lot of things in common really. 

Midnight was the usual time for the meetings of The Order of the Phoenix to begin, but the young woman often stayed up to watched the sun rise – after all, who knew when her last would be?

In the large, wooden kitchen in the house of Black, Hermione sat, deeply involved with a "no flinching" contest with the cat-cup. The room was bathed in the pinkish red, thrown in from the bay windows, and the small urban garden. 

Thoughtful eyes broke away and flickered towards the clock on the wall opposite her. The hands labelled Harry, Ron and Hermione were all pointing to "At Home" in the space where the one should be. She heaved a shuddering breath that she didn't know she was holding. 

Chocolate hair framed a heart shaped face; messy from half a night tossing and turning – the feathered hair was spiking up in all directions. Dressed in a dressing gown and ugh boots, hands clutched in front of her in the frosty autumn morning, the eighteen year old girl was anything but normal. 

To start, unlike most girls her age that were extraordinarily pretty, not in the conventional way of course, but she was completely unaware of it; her clothes were all picked out by her only girl friend and books mattered far more to her than makeup. There was the fact she resided in a safe house with her two best friends of the past eight years, both handsome, yet she never noticed they were boys. Oh, and Hermione Granger was a witch. 

A witch, who had just a year ago, graduated from what she considered the best Wizarding School in Europe, with the best passing marks ever seen since Tom Riddle. In fact passing marks identical to Tom Riddle. But what mattered now to the girl was much more than beating past Head-Boy's Potions scores. It was in fact, saving the world.

Lord Voldemort as he was known in later years, was on the rise again. The vast majority of the Wizarding World expected him to attack the famed Harry in his seventh year at Hogwarts, but the final blow had never come. It was now all they could do, that is, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger – "The Trio" "The Gryffindor Three" leading members of the D.A, now V.I.P's of The Order of the Phoenix, to sit and wait, whilst He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gathered his armies. 

A lot had since a little mousy-haired Muggle-Born had started Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Innocence had been lost. Family had left her. But now, an honouree member of the Weasley's, almost sister to orphaned Harry, a independent and intelligent young woman sat seated on a wooden stool in the Head Quarters of the most powerful Order in Britain. 

Independent, but sad. 

For one thing, a girl whose nineteenth birthday was in ten days didn't usually worry whether she would be there to see it, didn't worry about her friends being murdered, didn't worry that – _that fucking cup was staring at her again! _

With an enraged yell Hermione sprang from her stool and leapt across the table and swiped the terribly decorated mug into its oblivion and the direction of the doorway. 

"Well that particular teacup doesn't have nine lives." An amused voice drawled. 

Turning to face what should have been a broken mug instead was the chiselled face of a past arch-nemesis standing one hand on his hip the other wrapped around the upright item. He was wearing immaculate ebony robes, a raised eyebrow and a trademark smirk. 

"What did it do to you, Granger?" he asked, smirking again insanely. He replaced the cup, still with lukewarm tea in its previous position on the table, and sat down across from her, careful to sweep his robes behind him so not to wrinkle them, looking villainous. 

There was a long pause, in which Hermione stared at her school enemy – incredulity in her cinnamon eyes. She was not quite whether to make a run for her wand which was still sitting on her bedside table, three floors and a corridor away or a kitchen knife. 

"It was more like the fact that it's in league with Voldemort." She said, rather pointedly. 

"Granger, Granger, Granger. How little you think… of the cup and I." Before Hermione had time to respond a long, ebony wand was pressed to her neck in a blur of wide sleeved black robes. 

Draco Malfoy – Ten Times Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile (to which, Harry had been runner up), heir to the Malfoy Manor and fortune, looked like a picture shot entirely out of black and white with a pinkish light turned on it. He was tall, lithe and shadows were emphasising his high cheekbones and eyebrows. White-blonde hair was falling haphazardly, a strand into his right eye. And eyes that were as hard as steel, swirling grey, endless. 

Both inhumanly and breathtakingly beautiful. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Of course with you being on the cover of the Daily Prophet nearly weekly its like we've never been estranged. When was the last time I saw you?" 

"I believe it was on the train after Hogwarts… you came into our compartment threw one last contemptuous look at us all and then left," her voice matched his for sarcasm and he laughed again. 

"Now listen," he continued, his voice darkened to almost a whisper, eyes wide, "I know you have no reason to believe me –" 

"How did you get in here?" 

He said nothing, but his eyes clouded over. 

"How did you find us?" 

"I found you," he muttered softly looking young and very tired. Regaining composure suitable for a Malfoy he pressed the wand tip a bit harder. "The Dark Lord is after you, Granger, now unless you want to end up flobberworm meat," here he raised an eyebrow and remembered the many uneventful Care of Magical Creatures lessons they had once shared, "and I suspect you don't, you leave England and don't look back." 

A silence descended the kitchen, and Hermione was well aware that Draco was watching her, his eyes taking in every flicker of her own. Her gaze finally stopped on the old dark green stove. 

She laughed. 

"You rat bastard. You can't possibly be serious, Malfoy. Seven years you've wished me dead, now you… what? Warn me that your _boss _is going to kill me and you expect me to leave England?" She looked into his eyes, which were filled with lunatic calm. "Why don't _you_ just sod off?"

"Because Saint Potter and his bodyguard have their wands pointed to my back." 

"Are you lost, Malfoy?" Ron's voice rang across the hallway, from the bottom of the stairs where Hermione saw him and Harry standing wands outstretched pointing at Draco's back. Ron's tall and ginger form wearing embarrassingly too small yellow pyjamas decorated with realistic, never stopping hopping frogs that Hermione could never look at for more than a minute without getting a headache. Harry was lopsidedly wearing his glasses and red boxer shorts decorated with hearts, no doubt an early gift from Ginny. She cringed. 

"Actually Weasel, no, I just stopped by for a pot of tea," he drawled lazily, still with his back to them.

"Let Hermione go, Malfoy, there's three of us," Harry said in a commanding voice, he took a tentative step forward.

To everyone's surprise but mostly his, Draco dropped the wand and turned around. As he did so the sight of Harry and Ron in comical nightwear greeted him. 

"This is the crack team that foiled all of my cunning plans?" He asked sarcastically. "I am ashamed." 

"_Stupefy_!" The incantation was shouted by both Ron and the Boy Who Lived and resulted in Draco being knocked immediately to the floor, his head hitting the table with an awful sounding crack. 

A silence echoed in the room for a moment before Ron prodded Draco with his toe, confirming him soundly unconscious he gave him a swift kick. 

"That slimy git," he said with feeling. 

Hermione still regarding the somewhat surreal scene that lay before her hastily stood up and pushed him off. "Ron!" 

Harry was watching, as usual, Hermione got the familiar sense that somewhere in the young man's mind that this was all the starting chapter of a heroic adventure. Anger buzzed in his temples and he strongly wished, not for the first time directed at the Malfoy, he could put enough power into an _Avada Kedavra _spell. "Did he hurt you, 'Mione?" She shook her head as Harry wrapped a protective arm around her. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Well, Harry," Ron started incredulously, "what do we usually do with Death-Eaters?" 

"We hand them to Azcaban," Hermione answered firmly. 

Ron looked at her as though she'd gone insane. "This is _Malfoy _we're talking about, he somehow finds this place even though its protected by hundreds of charms _and _a secret keeper and you want to turn him so his father can buy his way out?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione laid a restraining hand on the redhead's arm. "We can't kill him, Ron."

It was now Ron's turn to look uncomfortable. Well not as much uncomfortable as hopelessly confused. 

Harry agreed. "He could be useful."

Turning to Harry, she noticed something unstable in his calm look. Something that touched only his bottle green eyes, as though he was walking in his sleep. 

He suddenly conjured a pair of heavy metal handcuffs out of the kettle and fixed them to Draco's wrists tightly. 

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What are you doing?" 

"Its simple – Malfoy's a Death Eater," he rolled up one sleeve of the unconscious captive's arm, the Dark Mark stood out on his flawless pale skin a mile. "And we are part of the Order. We need information. He's going to give it to us." 

Ron shook her hand off. "_Mobilicorpus._" Was all he said, smiling. But it wasn't a particularly nice smile. 

Draco, whose feet were suspended a few inches from the ground as though being held by an invisible hand, was dragged off downstairs to an empty cellar. 

Once down in the darkened square room, lit only by Ron's _Lumos _spell the blonde was thrown onto the floor. Harry and Ron were either side of him and Hermione, strangely silent followed, tightening the dressing gown around her waist. 

Ron was watching over Draco critically, his usual warm sky blue eyes darkened a bit too coldly. "Do you think he'll wake up?"

"Yes he should wake up any minute now." Hermione calculated the time it would take him to shake off two stunning spells.

Harry handed her her wand. "We found this on your dressing table when we went to look for you." He stated. "What was all that about Voldemort being after you?"

"You were there the whole time?" 

He nodded. 

"Why would he want to warn you anyway, 'Mione?" Ron pitched in. 

"That is the eternal mystery that is Draco Malfoy." 

Draco blinked. 

Vision was slowly coming back to him, slower than speech had. Hazy, brown black and cream were blurred in front of him. He blinked again. 

Leaning over him, watching out of a curtain of brown curls was wide almond shaped eyes. 

__

It was Granger.

Absently he wondered if she knew how much she looked like an angel. 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Ron. 

"By the way, Malfoy, you pale pillock, this room is apperation-proof. So don't even try it." 

Draco gave a wide, insanely calm smile and Ron flinched as though he had just watched something particularly disgusting. 

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry stepped forward as Ron stepped back. "We know you're a Death Eater." 

Draco, lying across the wooden floor, black robe either side of him like wings didn't even raise an eyebrow. He merely lifted his hands that were locked in the handcuffs and put them down with a metallic clang. 

"So it's torture this time, is it? That should be fun for you." 

Harry gritted his teeth. 

"You must want information," he continued simply. 

Hermione snorted loudly, and the three young men in front of her looked at her. "Would we be likely to get it if we did?"

"Well." Smile. "Not likely." 

The girl looked to each of her friends before adding dryly. "I didn't think so." 

Draco laughed out loud. 

Both Ron and Harry were looking a bit more than unnerved by now. Ron's ears had turned a familiar shade of bright red and Harry his eyes still glacier was pointing his wand at him. 

Something told Hermione things were about to get a lot worse.

"If you don't tell us-"

"You'll what? What _is_ Saint Potter going to do?" 

For a moment everything froze. Ron glancing at Harry questioningly. Draco looking up, defiant and fearless. But Harry caught her attention the most. On his usual soft features was an ugly look, and he was angrier than Hermione had ever seen him.

And then, everything moved too fast for words.

He raised his wand and brought it down with a sickening 'swoosh' at the same time he cried out – "_CRUCIO_!"

A horrified yell echoed in the room. But it was the only sound. And it came from Hermione. 

The girl had seen only one thing hit with that particular Unforgivable spell before – the vision of the small, palm sized black spider writhing unnaturally, screaming without a voice in unimaginable pain darted across her closed eyelids. Shut tightly against the unseen image of Draco suffering the same way. She loathed him wholly but Hermione would have given anything she owned to have released him from the spell. 

The curse hit Draco just above his navel. He barely had time to brace himself for the coming onslaught of his nervous system. Barely, but just enough. The Cruciatus Curse hits like a poison, but instantly and unrelenting. It feels like being hit with something very heavy, pierced by hundreds of knives and struck by lightning at the same time, only the pain isn't physical, it stings from the inside out. 

Opening her eyes the sight of Draco would haunt her forever. His usual stormy eyes had lost all focus and clarity, his body was wracked with one terrible shudder after another, his mouth a firm grim line. But no sound escaped the boy, and from the sight of his fisted hands Hermione felt sure this wasn't the first time he'd been under the curse. 

Unable to take one more second of seeing her nemesis tortured in the hands of her best friend, underneath harsh wand light, Hermione raised one hand and did something she'd only done once before. 

She slapped Harry across the face and Harry, loosing both concentration and balance fell aside and broke the curse. 

The room was frozen again, Ron and Hermione not quite believing what had happened, Harry breathing heavily and Draco – 

__

Oh, Malfoy. 

All at once, Hermione forgot everything and anything he'd ever done to her, her knees gave way as she knelt beside him, pressing one hand to his forehead and the other shaking him by the robes. If it was possible Draco had drained of all earthly colours, his eyes clamped shut, his hands limp. 

"Oh, Malfoy, Malfoy, you insufferable git open your eyes- please. Malfoy?" 

Hermione, by nature, was compassionate. She could never stand to see anything suffer – not pitiful house elves, not even proud model-like Malfoys. She crawled from her knees and stood up quivering with emotion. For a terrible, horrible moment she felt like she wasn't on the right side. 

"HOW COULD YOU, HARRY?" She screamed, furious tears falling down her cheeks. "HOW COULD YOU EVER THINK ABOUT USING A CURSE LIKE THAT? YOU – YOU'RE JUST LIKE _HIM!_" 

Then the sound of Ron gulping was carried across the small, square room. 

Harry recoiled as though she had slapped him; by 'Him' she had meant Voldemort. He knew it. "Why are you crying, Hermione?" He asked quietly, addressing himself to his wand. 

"I'm crying for you." Devoid of emotion, logical thought and worries about self-preservation Hermione was standing between Draco and Harry, her eyes betraying her frosty exterior. 

This time he looked at her, remorse and self-loathing in eternally sad green eyes. Then he looked at Draco, who was staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry." He said, in an oddly muted tone. 

Hermione, in what Draco considered a bold move, snatched Harry's wand out of his hands and flung it at staircase that led back up to the kitchen. "Get _out._" She snapped coldly. 

Ron, who was watching Harry and Hermione like he would two chasers at a Quidditch match raised a hand, "can I go too?" He asked as though he was asking Snape to go to the bathroom. 

Hermione nodded slowly as though she was communicating with someone very dumb. 

Harry turned back at the last second and said, "We'll be back with Dumbledore and Veritaserum." 

The door slammed shut as Ron, his light and Harry left. There was a distinct sound of a teacup smashing moments later, but that was the least of Hermione's problems. She was in a dark room with a Death Eater and he was more than likely very pissed off. 

Hermione lent against the stone wall. "_Lumos,_" she muttered and had to stop herself from crying out, "_Nox_." 

Bathed in the white light, against the black hardwood floors was Draco Malfoy sitting upright against the opposite wall, cuffed hands in front of him, smiling. 

It was the most disturbing smile she had ever seen. Beautiful, if not a little mad. 

It made her heart beat oddly. Gathering herself she wiped away her tears and pointed her wand at him. His eyes threw back the light, like an animal's would and all at once she wasn't upset with Harry, mad at Dumbledore's shoddy protection wards, just very very afraid. 

"This wasn't personal, Malfoy and you probably don't care but I wish Harry –"

"What?" Smile. "Didn't curse me?"

"This is not the traditional way you Golden Trio usually capture a _villain_ is it? Since you're worried Potter probably couldn't _crucio_ a cat to death. I've had much, much worse." 

"What makes you think I care?"

He smirked this time at the ceiling, trying not to look at her. 

"I can see you shaking." 

__

Oh Bollocks. 

"Could you do me a favour, Granger? Before Potter brings Dumbledore and a Dementor- could you just swish and flick a death curse this way?"

Surprisingly there was no amusement in his voice and Hermione realised something. He was completely serious. 

They both knew a Death Eater's fate since the war had started. The Ministry of Magic regarded its Wanted as a cancer – spreading and wholly evil. They were cut down like treacherous daises. Hexed for information. Fed to the remaining controlled Dementors. Blamed for anything, and everything. When times were hard, she remembered Fudge saying in one speech to the Order, it was important to make the best of what they had. And while she despised the politics behind these decisions Death Eaters got undoubtedly what they deserved. 

Even more surprising was the fact she had her wand pressed against his temple. 

"Did you want me to say you died in battle, trying to hex me like you'd planned?" She found herself asking awkwardly.

Draco looked at her incredulously his smile becoming forced, but not fading. His gaze left the ceiling. His eyes trailed over her, from her overly large fluffy boots, long legs, messed up curled hair, and black cotton dressing gown. Everywhere but her eyes. 

"I could tell your father it was a random Auror if you don't want a Muggle-Born to sully your name." 

He wasn't listening and unfortunately his feverish good humour had returned to him. "You'd really do it. Right here. Now. Bloody hell, Granger." 

Hermione pressed a little harder. "I couldn't stand to see you a walking corpse. I've seen Azcaban and I have seen what the Kiss does to people. Death Eater or not Malfoy, I would rather see you dead at my wand point than a void." 

"You aren't as innocent as you look," he wasn't aware he said it aloud. He turned away from her. "Well – what are you waiting for? It's not like Potter; one of the many Weasley's or Dumbledore will wait for the trail. And if you really wanted to tell my father something, give him a kick in the-" 

"Malfoy. I'm sorry for calling you a rat-bastard."

"Its okay. It's probably true," he said, looking taken aback.

"I never said I didn't mean it."

"You'd better hurry up and _kill me _Her-my-oh-knee, because that's certainly what I'd be doing if we the other way around. And, I wasn't lying. The Dark Lord really does want to kill you."

Another smash was heard from upstairs and Ron's voice called through the thick walls – "Hermione? Are you okay? Dumbledore will be here in a minute." There was a small pause.

"I really think you'd better kill me now." 

****

Screaming Authors Note: Is it OK? Are they too OOC? I know Physco!Harry is really… weird, but I wanted to show how much he's changed. I like Hermione, she's not really in character – since it's mostly through her instead of Harry, but she's such a strong person. I really hate it when someone portrays her as weak. She's got a lot of compassion. This!Draco is sexy. Right? And dynamic. Oh I love writing Draco – he always has so much potential. This essentially will be a D/Hr. Fear not. This was bloody hard to write. It's been stuck in my head for a while and was made by listening to "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan, thus crying a lot, caffeine and inspired by the SS Leather Libraries. Some of the dialog is based on The Chosen by L J Smith, not by plagiarism but the fact I've read it about 80 times. _Anyway. _Please someone review!

Screaming Reviewers:

luver-of-Tom = Well, Hermione wants to kill Draco because its that or the fate-worse-than-death of the dementors' kiss. So she would be putting him out of his misery effectively.

paradoxical – it doesn't really feature "Tea and Angels" - not yet anyway, but I thought "cat teacups and nearly-killed-by-crazed-best-friends" was a bit too long. Thanks for the review. *ducks behind computer* That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me!

La KitSa – Harry's deranged, isn't he? But we all love him anyway. 

Screaming Authors Disclaimer: I never wrote Harry Potter, nor do I claim too. I just leech ideas of the fabulous Ms. J K Rowling and elaborate. Illegally. But I'm not making any money (or keeping Draco Malfoy in _my _basement) which really, if you think about it, is a damn shame.


	2. The Chess Pieces Are Set

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The Chess Pieces Are Set

Draco vaguely admired his own ability to look unflappable, even when, really, he was very pissed off. Potter had surprised him, that boy was clearly unhinged – using an Unforgivable on him? It just shows you how far the Wizarding World had sunk now that The Git Who Lived was able to curse him randomly. And here he was waiting for Granger to whisper two words that would finally separate him from life. He half expected Weasley to jump out of a birthday cake, naked. 

__

Bad, bad images Draco, he mused. 

But oddly, he didn't doubt for a moment that Hermione Granger would do it. She was, after all, the determined sort. And strangely – almost horrifyingly - compassionate. She didn't want to see him on the boundary of death, soulless, everything that made him _Draco _gone. No, she'd much rather him dead. With a shake he pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked straight into them. 

Watching him intently, with her devastating hazel eyes, a wands length away she was closer to him than ever before. Swallowing, Draco realised she probably needed a bit more encouragement, well, he could insult her hair –

"You've killed a lot of people, haven't you, Draco Malfoy?" She interrupted bitingly. 

"I've killed enough, Hermione Granger. So if you would be so kind as to put me out of a fate far worse than death…"

But she had put down her wand. It was no longer that comforting touch of death on his jaw line. 

"What are you doing, _Granger? _Isn't this what you heroic-types do? Kill the bad-guy?" His blithe mood was obviously not contagious. Hermione's lip was trembling. "But, before you do – remember what I said, leave Potter and his shadow to the battle themselves. You have no idea what the Dark Lord would do if he got his hands on you." 

"It's been that way since I became friends with Harry, _Malfoy_, and why would you care anyway? I'm absolutely nothing to you." 

He sat in a stunned silence for a moment, looking at Hermione, aghast. _Why had he come? She didn't mean anything to him._

The moment he had heard about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's request for her alive came back to him. And he had only thought of one thing- to warn her. 

"Hermione?" Ron's tragically irritating voice from the kitchen echoed again. 

But Hermione was not listening. A deer-in-headlights look lit her face and she shook so hard she fell on her knees to the floor. 

She reached for his hands. 

Draco's heart sped up a bit more. 

Clasping the metal shackles around his hands, Hermione glanced up at him.

Draco lost all comprehensive thought. 

For the second time since his untimely arrival at, wherever he was, one of the Trio shocked the hell out of him. 

"_Alohamora,_" Hermione whispered and, entwining her hand with his, she pulled them from the dusty floor, with strength he didn't know she had. "Get out of here Malfoy, god knows why but I can't let you get killed." 

An escape. Suddenly the appeal of death and its long uneventful sleep was lost from him like an exhaled breath. She was offering him _an escape_. 

Pushing her away and pulling her wand hand towards him in a swift movement Draco snatched the thin weapon from her fingers. He spun her around, pressing her roughly to him and making her walk towards the stairs. 

"Why do you hate us so much, Malfoy?" She asked him when they had reached the top of the staircase. 

"You really want to know? Potter despite being a complete wanker beats me at everything he can lay his heroic hands on. And Weasel – well, you just have to look at him to make you want to say 'Avada Kedevra…'" She could almost feel him grinning like the Niffler who had got the coin. 

"So you're jealous?"

"Well, you could say that – after all have they one thing that they could never have."

"What is that?" She spat.

"You. You want to know what pisses me off about you so much? It was the fact that out of everyone in Hogwarts you were the _only_ one indifferent to me. There was something about you, Granger... it was how you looked at me like I wasn't really there."

Hermione stood there for a second, her heart bumping so loud she was sure he could here it.

"Granger," he whispered into her hair that was just under his chin. "Sorry it had to turn out like this – now open the damn door." 

Hermione obliged, as mixed emotions ran across her mind. She hated him beyond belief. She didn't want to see him dead. Or Kissed. Or crucio-ed by Harry. But she didn't want him out there, killing and maiming innocent Muggles. And now, somehow abiding-by-the-protocol-Hermione-Granger had just handed Malfoy, of all people, her wand. 

He was holding her too softly, it was more of a embrace than being used as a hostage, and one of his arms was around her waist, the other holding her wand. 

__

That ferret faced bastard, she thought furiously as he let them into the kitchen – he'd obviously spent a lot of time gentling scared girls. 

Harry was the first person she could see – sitting in her former chair head in his hands. Ron was leaning on the counter and finally, Albus Dumbledore; founder of the Order of Phoenix. Standing next to the fireplace holding Draco's black wand in his hand, in dusty violet robes, crescent moon glasses and an uncharacteristic grimace. 

He hadn't aged much since the last time Hermione had seen him – last week – but somehow he looked ill.

"Hermione!" Ron had noticed the unlikely couple's presence and a stream of loud expletives shortly followed his announcement. 

Dumbledore took a step closer and Draco pressed her own wand to her temple.

"Mr. Malfoy, now, please release Miss Granger and put – down – her – wand –" he said as though he was mediating between a simple matter of a corridor argument at they're former school.

"Look a bit familiar, Potter?" Draco snapped, ignoring the ancient wizard. "Going to use an Unforgivable this time-?" 

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU WANT FROM US?" Harry roared, knocking over his chair in blind anger and looking at Hermione helplessly, his green eyes spilling running down his cheeks. His glasses sitting on the table. Ron grabbed his arm hard and restrained him from doing anything in Draco's eyes Gryffindor-like and therefore, completely stupid.

Hermione felt a surge of pity for Harry, who had lost so much in this war. 

"Granger knows what I came here to tell her," Draco replied elusively his wild smirk back in place. Then mockingly, he continued, "now, Dumbledore, my wand please." 

Dumbledore handed Draco his wand, saying, to Hermione in one of his gentler tones, "Are you all right Miss Granger?" 

She nodded as Draco's possessive arm around her waist tightened. 

"I didn't hurt you did I?" His voice was so low that Hermione was sure that only she could hear. 

"Next time I see you, Malfoy," she promised loudly, writhing against him in a futile effort to get free. "I _will_ kill you."

Then all of a sudden, she was flying towards Dumbledore and with a _crack _of vibrating air, the familiar sound of someone apparating. Draco had gone. 

Hermione, who had been caught by Dumbledore in an impossible display of strength from the old man, was surrounded by her friends in desperate hugs. Harry had broken down completely, sobbing into her shoulder. 

Ron was on her other shoulder repeating desperately "I thought he was going to kill you – I thought he was going to kill you – did he hurt you 'Mione? Because if he did I would rip out his intestines -" 

And Dumbledore calm as ever was watching the seen with a calculating look. 

When her best friends, oddly emotional, and obviously feeling very guilty from leaving her in the basement with a Death Eater had calmed down. Well, enough to let her sink into a chair, comforted by the frosty sunlight that was now streaming through the windows, they bombarded her with questions that for once in her life, she didn't know how to answer. 

"How did he get loose?" Harry asked staring at a broken mug shattered across the floor.

"Well – uh, I don't know, it was all happening so fast – I think I must have lent down too far and my wand dropped on the floor –"

"Did he try anything, 'Mione? Because if he did me'n Harry would-"

"And you're all sure Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater?" Dumbledore was spoke briefly, engaged in his own thoughts and plots. 

"Yeh, we saw it on his filthy arm-" Ron growled. 

"This makes one thing absolutely clear," Dumbledore's glassy blue eyes addressed all of them seriously and not for the first time, Hermione felt Dumbledore saw straight through her, "that we are not to provoke or reveal any information about the Malfoys. We have no idea how many wealthy Pureblood families they have with they're alliances. We ignore what happened today, we do not know Draco Malfoy's motives for attacking Hermione yet. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have to talk to Severus Snape about this evenings meeting." 

They're former Head Master didn't wait for a reply as he stepped up to the large fire place taking a handful of Flu-Powder from an ash-tray sized pot and saying clearly, "Head Masters Office" as he stepped into the grate.

"What was all _that _about?" Ron asked looked confusedly to Harry and Hermione.

"It means," Hermione said, "that Dumbledore is scared of Malfoy's involvement with Voldemort." 

Harry looked up sharply.

"Oh and Harry," the girl fished one hand into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out a small present, in hurried red wrapping paper and golden string, "happy birthday." 

- - - -

The creature that resembled far more of a snake than a man sat facing the fire in a high backed green velvet armchair in the third floor drawing room of the Malfoy Manor – what had become the unofficial strong hold for the high ranking members of the dark side. 

It was hard to believe that the pale, almost featureless appearance of a man was the most human form that the past Tom Riddle had had in the last eighteen years. The once handsome Head Boy now had carved red slit eyes, long bony fingers, and every human thought from the once intelligent mind had gone, leaving only a power hungry vestige of the boy he once had been. It was a high price to pay for immortality. 

But it was a price he did pay, and kept on paying. 

Voldemort would live forever, that he alone would watch the last sunrise and the final sunset of the planet that had so little to entertain him. He, unlike any other natural thing that crawled this earth –would fashion the world to suit him. Cleanse it of the filthy Muggles and even more disgustingly tainted Mudbloods, who didn't deserve magicks. This time, unlike his last, far less researched attempt at gaining absolute power he realised that he must obliterate those in the Wizarding World who opposed him – starting with the Muggle-loving Ministry of Magic. 

The Ministry, besides Hogwarts and Gringotts was the most heavily magically guarded place in Europe, and its protection had increased paramount since he himself had foolishly apparated there in an act of killing that wretched Potter – so how to destroy it? The plan had taken time and effort on his and his Death Eater's parts. Gradually it had come to light that the Ministry was founded in medieval times when Muggles were at they're most bloody thirsty. A wizard named Leontes had begun building it, weaving it almost entirely out of magic. Eventually though, Leontes was arrested by the Muggles he so loved, and once stripped of his wand had been burnt alive at the stake. The Ministry, though, was left to be finished by the Wizengamot but like many things in the Wizarding World, where things don't end were they are meant to, Leontes is still in some way tied to the Ministry. 

The tall monster suddenly rose himself from the chair and called out in an unimaginable voice – "Wormtail!" 

A shrivelled man approached the room, his metal arm swaying dangerously as he threw himself to the bottom of Voldemort's olive green robes. 

"Yes master?" Squeaked the shell of Peter Pettigrew, another story and another soul lost. 

"Fetch me Lucius." He kicked him away and watched for his return with his most ruthless Death Eater. 

The slender man appeared at the door almost instantly, grey eyes of obsidian, impeccable black robes of tailor cut, long blond hair, so light it was almost silver, swept somewhat respectfully backwards. At first glance he would appear like any other attractive elder man, but on a closer inspection you could see the droplets of blood, not his own, on his cheek, and the cane always adorning his right hand was sharp and menacing. 

He, like every other follower Voldemort owned pressed his forehead to the floor in respect or fear. 

"You called for me, master?" 

"Was there any luck finding the girl?" 

"No master, we searched every street and every building bearing number twelve in London –"

"Stand up Lucius, it pains me looking down on you. Our sources say the girl is hiding out at number twelve, and yet she was not there?"

A shiver of fear ran through the owner of the Manor. "No, master she was not."

A silence followed that statement. 

"A pity Lucius… a pity," Voldemort replied finally, "though I'm sure Dumbledore is hiding her just as efficiently as he does…" the Dark Lord trailed off as though just thinking that particular word offended him greatly.

"Potter, my lord?" Piped up Wormtail from a forgotten corner. 

"Of course Potter!" he snapped softly as if imagining something beautiful to his crimson eyes- Harry Potter dead, "that permanent thorn in my side." 

Lucius was not sure how to respond, but added hesitantly, "all Muggles were destroyed once the Death Eaters discovered she was not there. But the wizards at those residences were brought in – there was only one, though master, Michael Lester – works in the Department of Security at the ministry."

"I trust he is in the dungeons, I will have use of him tomorrow," it was not a question, "tell me, where is your son? Has he returned from the raids?"

"Draco has-"

"Good. Send for him."

Dressed in black, like his father, Draco strode through the door, looking like a blond, black and cream thundercloud. Angry as sin. 

Just the way Voldemort liked him. 

He knelt before the Dark Lord; an irritated look was quickly smoothed into an emotionless stare. 

"My lord has send for me?" He asked, and behind him Lucius winced at his sarcastic lilt on the word _my. _

"His insolence is by no means condoned on my part, master. He has suffered many beatings when he displays dislike for our cause-" 

"Enough, Lucius." Voldemort was watching Draco intently; he would have been amused if he was human enough for that emotion, and he would have raised and eyebrow if he had any. "Draco, stand." He did so. "It is my knowledge that you attended classes with the Granger girl."

"I did." 

"And what is _your _knowledge of her?"

Draco swallowed, but assumed a neutral tone. "She was a bookworm, a know-it-all, a perfectionist, wild hair and eyes like –"

"Lucius has informed me that you seemed quite obsessed with her. She was talented?"

"Granger was at the top of every class. Except Potions." 

His father was taking another stab at interrupting. "If my lord doesn't mind me asking - what do you want with the Mudblood? – surely there are others you can use." 

Voldemort turned back to the elder Malfoy. "Because what I say, shall be." He hissed in a cold and dismissive tone. 

Both Malfoy's bowed and while Lucius backed off respectively Draco fled. 

Once in the corridor Lucius's cane struck the wall next to Draco's neck. 

"What was _that _about, boy?" He snapped, circling his son. 

"Nothing – father – I-"

"Do not lie to me, Draco, you have been eighteen for six months now, by this time I thought I would have had a son to be proud of. It is clear, that you have disappointed me again."

His father's vice-like grip on his throat prevented Draco from answering. 

"And you will not do anything again to jeopardise the Malfoy name – will you?"

He let go of his neck and Draco gasped for breath, but immediately regretted it when Lucius backhanded him across his cheek. 

"Malfoy's never show weakness." 

Draco, whose cheek was now marred with angry red, didn't flinch or look away when his fathers hand connected with his face, nodded. 

"You will meet your mother and I in the dinning room at dinner, now stay out of my sight." Lucius continued, removing his cane from blocking Draco's way he swept off down the corridor, no doubt to take his anger out on his house elves or worse, his wife. 

Draco leaned against the wall bitterly reliving the early hours this morning. The Cruciatus Curse has always been one of his father's favourites – inflicting enough pain to make you scream like the sound was not made by human tongues, but not enough to kill, thus adding to the fun of being able to kill his victims slowly. Draco himself had suffered it many times – but he had never ever, much to his father's sick delight, cried out – and Lucius's curses were far more potent and refined than Harry Bloody Potter's. 

He thought about what his father would say if he saw the maps and locator devices he'd use to gain access to the safe house where the Trio had been hiding. The place was obviously guarded to the hills by the fact that they had all been sitting around unarmed. That, and it had taken him a hundred galleons to acquire to the specific spell that would take him directly to Granger's feet. If that hadn't been task enough he had needed something she'd touched (in this case a school library book "Hogwarts: A History" that she'd loaned just before him in they're second year) and to be able to visualise her. And within an hour of practising dark spells an imagining his school _unfriendly_ competition Draco was able to Apparate to a specific _person _instead of specific _place. _

Hermione Granger, another mystery. Nothing ever made sense when it concerned her in his mind. Take her for school, for instance. She was smart, abided by the rules, but some how managed to get herself caught up with Potter and Weasley and they're latest attempt at saving the world. One fluffy animal at a time. She was a Mudblood – yet easily the most gifted witch of they're year. She was beautiful, yet she didn't notice. She was so many things to him, yet she thought in his eyes she was nothing. Hermione Granger, in short was the most unattainable thing in the world.

Hours and several iced showers later Draco was steeling himself to enter the lavish dinning room. He ran a hand through careless hair as he entered the room that was big enough to be a church. It was decorated in the Malfoy colours – silver and black, three candle chandeliers hung high above him in the huge domes, the long black table only taking up a third of the room. The rest was the ballroom, a stage at the far wall where the band would play all on a black marble floor.

His mother gave a sharp look to Lucius as he entered, seeing the blackened bruise that ran across his cheekbone, but said nothing. She had not suffered beatings for her son for a long time. 

Narcissa Malfoy was many things, but a caring mother she was not. She had traded in love and equality, for the lasted in Gladrags Wizardwear, cosmetic spells and a high profile marriage. So little of what was portrayed as a happy-family to the outside world was true. 

And here Draco found himself, in the middle of what was far from a conventional family, his insane and vapid mother and his puppet of a father sitting either side of him. 

Lucius ignored his son and wife, and instead sat reading the _Daily Prophet_ with a grimace. The headlines read MUGGLES MURDERED AT NUMBER 12's, and the subtext read boldly, "Can Aurors, Dumbledore or Potter Stop It Before It's Too Late?" 

"Well," he said at last, "this might effect your party next week Narcissa – I doubt many high profile witches and wizards will want to be seen parting happily after the Dark Lord's attack." He picked up a glass of red wine and swilled it about causally. 

"Nonsense," the cold woman said firmly with a reluctant look at her husband. 

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, anger glinting in his harsh eyes, "how so?" 

"Well, I invited those dratted friends of Dumbledore_-_"

"You did WHAT?" Both Lucius and son exclaimed, wine glasses and forks flying. 

"- To keep up appearances, I'm sure that at least one of them will show up, after all," she allowed herself a small laugh before it was replaced by the familiar bored look, "who refuses a Malfoy party?"

"Have you completely lost your _mind_?" Lucius was on his feet now; he threw the glass of wine over Draco's mother's head that ended with a smash on the opposite wall. "The Dark Lord is currently sitting _upstairs _and you invite _Aurors for tea_?"

"May I be excused, father?" Draco muttered sarcastically, "I need to go and pack my trunk for Azcaban." 

"Not Aurors, Lucius, and sit down Draco – its improper for a wizard to rise before the lady of the table does – just those that are always in Witch Weekly." 

His father seemed stumped for speech, a shrewd look now in place.

"You mean Harry Potter, one of those Weasley's and that Granger Mudblood?" He asked. 

"I mean, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown and those Patil twins – they're always in the _Witches that Dress with a Flick and Swish _section."  
"Brown? Where have I heard that name before?" 

"Her father works at Gringotts and her mother moves in the same circles as the Brocklehursts' – such a same they are fond of Dumbledore really."

"And Patil?"

"They're mother is the _personal _secretary of Alexis Zabini." 

"… Granger?"

"Well, Mudblood –" Lucius dangerously picked up another glass of wine. "- As much as we don't actually want her there, she could be useful. Wouldn't the Ministry's lot just jump at a chance to make everything seem alright?" 

"And if she's seen with Draco it could possibly put to rest those terrible rumours that had slandered the Malfoy name." Voldemort's terrible voice said from the doorway. "My dear Narcissa," he bent and pressed scaly lips to her hands, "what a clever plan. You have a greatly cunning wife, Lucius." 

Draco's father put down the glass hastily. 

- - - -

Snape was looking uncharacteristically sick. Not that his chalk complexion and limp greasy hair made him look so healthy, but for someone to look worse than that was an achievement. 

Disregarded tears fell across sunken cheeks as Hermione, who was now suitably dressed passed him a teacup. 

She piled his drink full of cubes of sugar. 

"That's quite enough, Granger." He snapped, not quite looking up. 

Ron was uneasy with the wreck of a potions teacher that he openly disliked, and Harry blindly sat lacing Hermione's fingers with his. Desperately clutching as though looking for comfort rather than giving it. 

Saying the dinning room was _a_ _little_ messy was like saying the Dursley's had been _a little _overprotective. Owls and they're feathers decorated the room, documents and maps buried the several Order members and a tower, challenging even Charlie Weasley for height, of today's newspapers stood in the corner. Even the Muggle papers confirming the one tragedy. Everyone who resided in a house or apartment that was numbered 12 in London was killed. The Wizarding newspapers said Death Eaters. The Muggle's said cult. Either way it was murder, the brutal unforgivable kind. The Dark Mark flying high as the morning's sunrise. 

"Men, women and children," Snape croaked – his voice far from the normal shade of sleaze. 

No one knew what to say. 

"What we going to do?" Remus Lupin's hollow voice finally rang out. "They've been looking for _us_ – "

"I agree with Hermione!" Mundungus yelled suddenly, the mess of dreadlocks and battered clothing appearing from behind dusty volumes; a piece of parchment stuck to his forehead. 

"The meeting hasn't started yet, Dung," Tonks mumbled, pink hair contrasting brightly in the dim room, quill between her teeth. 

Uneasy silences followed, well silence apart from the frantic scramble for parchment and flick of pages. 

Ron suddenly slammed down a book, sending papers flying. Effectively snapping everyone out of they're morbid thoughts. "What time was Dumbledore getting here?" He asked.

Hermione sent him a grateful look, as she finally ceased adding sugar to Snape's tea.

As though reading waiting for someone to ask that particular question, Dumbledore strode through the door accompanied by Ron's dad, a very shabby looking Arthur Weasley. He didn't bother with pleasantries. "One wrong move could cost us this battle." Dumbledore said, voice grave.

****

Dedicated to my Wonderful Reviewers, all and Beta!Nana

Fainting Authors Note: Well, this chapter is very choppy. Much like the PS/SS movie. *mutters* And I wonder if I've revealed a bit too much... hm. You'll get some definite answers in chapter 3, I promise. Or maybe 4. I blame Draco. His POV is just a bag o' ferrety fun to write. But I wonder if its a bit too... light-hearted? Tongue-in-cheek? I wanted you all to be afraid!! of Lucius but he just makes me twitch. It was proof read by my very fantastic Nana, who didn't have the faintest clue what was going on, which makes me even more worried - since I made her watch CoS with me several times. But, on the plus, she was very scared about Voldemort. Yay! Especially since she lives in Surrey. Made listening to Powderfinger. Sponsored by caffeine. Ever fuelled by reviews. *cough* 

Fainting Authors Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours. Unless your J K Rowling or her agents, in which case, get off the net you evil woman and put pen to paper! I want to see book 7 before I'm an insane HP collecting old lady thanks! 

Fainting Reviewers:

Lexie - Ah yes, Draco, the international man-of-mystery. 

Slytherlinzi - Ack! Don't go congratulating Hermione yet - after all Draco's pretty face can worm its way out of anything! Love your new fic, by-the-way. 

bessorla - *ears turn red* Thank you :)


	3. The Dead Village

****

The Dead Village

That cryptic remark was met with horror by the Order of the Phoenix. Snape didn't look up. Harry's grip tightened. Ron, who had crossed the room in one stride, was in an embrace with his father. Remus clutched the back of his chair. The quill Tonks was holding dropped to the floor with a clatter. Mundungus began heavily smoking, clouds of thick smoke drifted across the room instantly, and Hermione nervously began adding more sugar to any teacup before her.

It wasn't often that Albus Dumbledore was so negative or so blunt. 

"The pieces of black and white are moving across the board," he continued, "but grey is not – we have readied ourselves for situations worse than the ones we are faced with now – the Aurors and the Ministry are at our side and we-"

"-Will not be beaten." A rather thinner than usual Cornelius Fudge said, stepped out from behind Dumbledore, clothed in a long, extravagant plum coloured robe with matching bowler. 

"I was going to say 'will stand together'," Dumbledore amended, smiling sadly. 

"Oh! Dreadfully sorry!" He didn't look it. 

Addressing the Order once more and assuming his seat at the head of the table, Fudge by his side, the Head Master began the meeting. "By Ministry reports the Muggle death toll in inner London has reached two hundred and twenty three. Which means, Voldemort," here a collective shudder ran through the room, "has _at least_ that number of active followers…Severus, have you any information regarding numbers? Had we not presumed more than a hundred but less than two?"

Snape, who had been paying close attention to every grain of wood on the table, was holding an expression most unlike his usual death-glare. 

"They will pick us off again, Dumbledore, one by one, until nothing and no-one, no not even you Potter," he snapped, "will stand in they're way."

The familiar uneasy silence filled a room so used to secrets, not a feather moving until, Hermione raised a tentative hand high. 

"_Miss _Granger," Snape spat, feigning politeness, "10 points from… from your first child, if I have the unfortunate of teaching at Hogwarts for that long, for acting as though we – are – still – in – potions." 

The girl, fading into the poorly lit back ground in a black tee shirt suddenly stood out, cheeks pink. "Draco Malfoy."

The ten most talked about and highly elusive wizards and witches this side of The Leaky Cauldron turned to face her. 

Dumbledore took of his half moon glasses, the penetrating azure gaze cutting straight through Hermione like a knife. 

"Draco Malfoy must have had a tracking spell on one of us," she pointed to herself, Harry and Ron, "since there was no other way he could have got into Grimmauld Place, but I read in _Transportation Spells of the Last Century_ that it always works in reverse. Couldn't we make the spell go the other way?"

Dumbledore, who she had been speaking mostly too, looked at her neutrally. The adult members of the Order looked interested; Ron was mouthing '_still teachers pet'_ at her. Only Snape and Harry maintained they're sour expressions, perhaps the only thing they'd ever shared. 

"It couldn't have been Harry," Lupin stated, looking towards him, "Albus made you Unplottable." 

The headmaster eyes were suddenly alight with worry as he faced Hermione. "This will be a most dangerous task, Miss Granger."

- - - -

The knocking on her bedroom door wasn't answered.

Nor was it locked. 

The heavy brass doorknob turned as Hermione sat, legs curled under her, leaning against the headboard facing it. A thick text book in her hands. She didn't make a move to stop it or call out. 

But a young man, barely taller than her, hands clasped in front of glasses and what appeared to be closed eyes stumbled through doorway anyway. Piles of books hindered his path as he made his way to the edge of the double bed. 

"Hermione? Are you getting dressed?" He veered around a particularly large stack of Jane Austin novels. 

"Harry Potter," she scolded through a wry smile, "I can see you peaking." 

Harry dropped his hands, an unamused smile that didn't reach his eyes on his face and sank into the bed, looking drained. 

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked, expecting the black haired boy's partner in crime to be the other side of the door. 

"Gone back to the Burrow with Mr. Weasley for tonight. He wanted to see Ginny and his mum. He invited us too, but Dumbledore didn't think we should be leaving." he paused for a moment, "I guess you're on the Death Eater hit list too after this morning." 

The small smile that had been previously playing across his lips disappeared as though it had never been there. 

"I'm really sorry, Hermione, I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to scare you – or hex Malfoy," his voice cracked, "I'm so – so – sorry-"

"It's okay," Hermione said gently. "I don't blame you, really, you've seen and been through so much. But, Harry that doesn't mean you can use those kind of curses on anyone, Death Eaters or not. The Order doesn't – that's not the type of hex we fight with. That's what separates us from _them_. Even Aurors only use them as a last resort." 

Hermione's monologue was only answered by the soft shuffling of Harry as he flicked through the book she had been reading. 

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to the book and a particular diagram on page 156 of human anatomy, "what are you reading?"

"It's a science text book. Honestly, Harry, I thought you went to Muggle primary school," Hermione laughed softly as he turned the book around as to get a better look, "I never thought of you as the Boy Who Perved."

"Why are you reading Muggle school books?" Harry didn't return her smile; instead he shut the book and was looking gloomier than before, "is this about your parents?"

Hermione's face fell. 

"I really couldn't expect them to be like they always were… I hadn't seen them nearly three years-"

"But they didn't turn up at your graduation; you don't blame yourself do you?"

"No, of course not," she replied a little waspishly, "but Hogwarts was something my parents could never understand, they tried, they always tried, but they just couldn't get how I could fight in a war and they could be completely oblivious."

"Then why the book?"

"The war won't last forever..." once Hermione had said it, she immediately regretted it. A painful expression was on her best friend's face - a mixture of pain, fear and longing. 

"You mean when one of us is dead?" He snapped, a little too sharply. 

"I mean," Hermione spoke earnestly, "there are far more important things than dying."

She got no answer. 

"Like living." 

Harry swallowed. 

"My parent's can't face the fact that I want to become involved in something that _chose me_ – but that doesn't matter to me, I'd follow you and Ron anywhere," she bit her lip thoughtfully, "after all you never did get me expelled. Here _we _are. Adults. Does being eighteen make you feel different?" 

"Not really – I think somewhere I'm still eleven. 'Cept now I'm a bit taller." He smiled a shadow of his more careless younger self, and rubbed a bracelet on his arm absentmindedly. "Do you ever wonder where we'd be if we weren't magical?"

"Some where between Surrey Library and madness, I'd expect." 

"Well, I'd still be looking for my head down a toilet of Stonewall High – my cousin and his friends were scary. Especially if he sat on you… except I always prevented him from doing too much damage. My first ever wandless magic was to escape him – ended up on the roof of my primary school," Harry grinned, somewhat proudly, at the memory, "what was your first wandless magic?"

Hermione looked guilty for a moment. 

"What _was _it?" He pressed.

"Whenever I got particularly upset about something I had a tendency to set it on fire."

"You're _kidding_!" Harry looked slightly gleeful. "What did you burn?"

"It was only in extreme circumstances! And it was only that waterproof blue bell fire spell…"

"_Only_? Hermione! That fire burns through _anything_!"

The studious girl looked more than a little sheepish now, a flustered blush was creeping up her cheeks. "Yes… it took seven members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to stop me burning down our kitchen."

Harry looked at her, mouth agape. "You never told us this."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Oh, because Ron would never let me hear the end of it." 

- - - -

"I suppose technically you are meant to have three years of training to be suitable for this kind of – " 

"You just focus on getting out alive, girl," the gruff voice of Mad Eye Moody called as he circled her. "The Disillusionment Charm's done. But that doesn't mean you're undetectable. Wherever that Malfoy boy is, it will most defiantly be guarded well. He Who Must Not Be Named keeps his secrets."

Hermione bit her lip and Tonks winked encouragingly as she performed her own spell. 

"Now Granger, Tonks, Lupin, and I will be doing the work, you're just our ticket there. Once, and I repeat, once we are there you Apparate back here," he barked harshly and slowly, "always be on your guard and-"

"Moody, Hermione was the best student seen at Hogwarts for nearly a hundred years, and no matter how many times you say something, she won't forget it." Lupin's voice the other side of her said. 

Dumbledore stepped forward towards the rippling mass of dirty cream wallpaper that now was Hermione, Lupin, Tonks and Mad Eyed Moody. "Good luck, Miss Granger, you are in excellent hands." 

Exactly who was in whose hands she wasn't quite sure. Hermione was actually feeling quite self-conscious. Tight black clothes, which Moody had informed her, would be good for disguise purposes clung to her like a second skin. The fact that two of her former professors where clutching her hands tightly along with a witch who had to be bribed to change her pink hair and was wearing fishnet stockings. A black knitted hat was the only thing taming unruly curls. 

Not a thought was spared towards the peril that possibly awaited at the end of the spell, least of all where and who with they would find themselves, except Hermione briefly prayed that she wouldn't end up in a shower with Malfoy as she called out the incantation –

"_Inflecto Draco Malfoy_!"

The short buzzing feeling of Apparating suddenly took affect and dozens of miles now separated the three members of the Order of the Phoenix from they're original location. 

"Where _is_ this place?" Called Lupin's voice from Hermione's left.

Where they stood, all holding onto various parts of the girl's bare arms was in fact in front of a near derelict pub; it didn't have any windows, just a large brown door. But all Hermione could see was black. Black and a vast amount of bottom-of-the-sea green. 

Next to the old building was a large amount of heavy fern trees, blocking whatever was behind totally. Only an un-lit road pathed it's way through the dark. A small sign printed in peeling faded letters stood before them. 

"Little Hangleton, eh? Doesn't look like there's much of anything left," he muttered, "be very quiet, girl, and follow us. Are you sure you said the spell right?"

"Yes. But isn't it meant to take us straight to Malfoy?" 

Ignoring the question Moody's magically eye settled firmly on her. "Now, Granger – if one of us is killed go straight back to Grimmauld Place, got it? We don't break ranks for -" 

Tonks' voice interrupted what Hermione suspected was a standard rant from the old Auror. "Don't be mad, Mad-Eye, we're not going to die." 

Blanketed as they were in the star-less and moon-less night sky only the dim grey light to lead them as they stepped closer to the pub something felt horrible wrong. 

Lupin held back, looking around intently. 

Tonks looked at him. "What's wrong, Remus?" She asked, peering at him.

Moody turned back to them, holding his hand out and gesturing for the near invisible Hermione should stop. 

"I smell death."

He strode past his companions and twisted the doorknob and disappeared behind the door, above which a traditional sign read 'The Hanged Man', the hinges squeaking un-welcome. 

Following him and quickly drawing out they're wands they entered the black as pitch room. 

Standing as much in the room as she dared Hermione couldn't see anything, but the smell was terrible. It reeked of rot and wood. And… something else. 

"Why are we all standing about in the dark?" Tonks asked, her voice sounding far away. 

A smash of glass against hard wood was heard. 

"_Lumos._" Said all four of them. 

Immediately, they all wished they hadn't. In the centre of the room was the glass that Tonks' smashed and around that was eyes. 

Pairs of blank-staring eyes and they're forgotten corpses. Men women and children stacked on top of each other were piled around the sides of the expansive room. Dried sickly red blood stained the walls, the floor and the bar. 

Horror and terror flooded through Hermione like a bucket of iced water had been thrown over her head. Bile rose in her throat and she longed to scream, call for help and cry out in frustration. Innocent Muggles had been slain, and some where, Draco Malfoy was here. And he was going to pay. 

Tonks clutched the bar for support and even Disillusioned Lupin looked as white as the full moon. Moody was only slightly more composed, his marred face twisted was limping towards the other side of the room where large windows were. Covered in heavy drapes. 

With a quick severing spell the curtains fell away leaving only black and a lot of glittering lights. The odd grey sky just illuminated an enormous graveyard in the heart of the village and few houses around it, although large daunting house sat atop a hill. Too far away to be seen clearly, there were hundreds of people. 

People who rightly, didn't belong there. 

The men and women clothed in long black cloaks, hoods drawn back were without a doubt not the original inhabitants of the village. They were Death Eaters. 

Four of which were getting closer, and clearer as they approached The Hanged Man. 

"Mad-Eye?" Tonks asked uncertainly. 

"Right, Lupin and I will see if we can gather any information of what exactly has happened here," he grunted as his magical eye revolved, "and you stay and watch Granger. Wait for us here." 

The formally pink haired girl frowned and stretched out a hand to take Hermione's. "Merlin, be careful…"

Once they had Apparated, presumably to the other side of the building where hundreds of Death Eater _Lumos _spells lit the sky like ominous star streetlights. 

"_Nox._"

"Are you all right there, Hermione?" Tonks quietly asked the girl who was watching the window with a fascination as she too extinguished her wand although hesitatingly. 

"Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, and I think, Marcus Flint are just about to come in here." Hermione replied in a matter-of-fact manner. 

In a whirl Tonks' Auror training took over, throwing the younger girl towards the bar and horrifyingly close to a Muggle old woman, lying across the floor. 

"Hide and don't come out, Hermione!" Tonks' voice whispered.

The opposite oak door creaked open. 

Hermione froze in horror just in front of the bar. 

A shadowy figure appeared behind the gap, hood apparently drawn over its head. 

Turning back to the scene, wand drawn Hermione was about to yell out a spell- 

"NO!" the bodiless voice yelled, the sound echoing around the darkened walls. 

The shadow's wand was now reflecting what little light was in the room. 

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" shouted Tonks', stepping forward, no longer chameleon like under the spell, "GET OUT OF HERE!" she called to Hermione, looking fanatically around the room for signs of the girl. 

Once she had yelled it, Crabbe, Goyle and the past Slytherin Quidditch captain burst through the door, blasting it, and the large panelled window out of the way with what looked like boulders. 

The force of the explosion blasted everything from where it stood and as Hermione landed the other side of the bar, hit the wall and possibly a lot of long forgotten glasses, black slowly enveloped around her. 

More spells were exchanged and reflected.

Through the mist, as she was sliding down the wall, she saw another explosion, which was far the most unforgivable and unforgettable thing she had ever seen. 

Green light. 

Unleashed as though it was never contained, it struck the intended target with finesse of carefully trained lightning. The last thing Hermione saw, as she felt blood run down the back of her neck and her knees buckle was a hand stretching out to clutch her and… Tonks falling backwards. 

****

Dedicated to Talon, the reviewers and of course, the wonderful posters at the L&L fictionally board. 

Sobbing Authors Note: It was less choppy, right? It was appallingly hard to write. Appalling. Since I set in all out in a nice little notepad and I had to just write around the bullet points. Originally it didn't end quite like that (there was another scene) but I thought I'd pause it until next chapter. Oh yes, the suspense. Most of these scenes are started half way through them, since as you can probably tell, I'm hopeless at small talk. Unless it's marginally witty. Please pay attention to the Harry/Hermione conversation. It has plot points I promise. And as for the usual Sidekick!Ron, he won't be boring… that much. Sorry about the attempt at angst. Will burn it, I promise. 

Sobbing Authors Disclaimer: Must… kill… JK… heh. Joking. 

(Thank you one and all!) Sobbing Reviewers:

SilverCoin aka Veronika- Thank you! I try so desperately hard to make them not-that-ooc. Some times it even takes 3 or 4 drafts. Ah, yes, a lot happens in the first chapter so its a little confusing... 

Black*Draconis - wow, thanks! Death threats already, huh? LOL I feel just like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle! 

Black Rein - I'm glad :D

Thalion1 - you want to share Draco? *splutters* well I suppose since you like my fic you can have him Mondays, Wednesdays and we can alternate Saturdays :)

LoveSpell - *blushes* why thank you O_o

bessorla- thanks for the CC, its my first fanfic, so I need all the help I can get lol, I adored your "Chocolate" fic 

Menace of Mine - thats the funniest death threat I've ever heard :D Yes, Harry has gone loco, maybe we can redeem him. Or kill him. Ah! Plot bunny! 

Dark Raven - thank you :) Ah! the pressure! 

a la sombra - Don't worry, I will defiantly continue. At the rate of a very fast snail. 

Aurora - Yes expect muchly more D/Hr action *cheery wink*

Caprigrrl Lannoire - oh, I'm really glad you think so... the Hermione/tea cup scene was very much inspired by me talking to my coffee cup after seeing The Ring so it was all very bleak. Did I use 'Mione' too much? Ack! 

Caprigrrl Lannoire(take two) - oh... my. That is without a doubt the biggest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I think that is probably the best line I've written *grin* glad you like it - Voldemort has so much going for him to write as a character. That evil git. Thanks again. Please review any time you'd like. 

SkYdIvE_babe - thank you, ah yes, nothing does quite beat the bouncing rat... except for jeans!draco *swoon* *glare* and I did learn from the best *coughmrhullet* and all that huxley ... original works of fiction. your fic better be coming along, girl, or Draco is mine MIIIINE (and sam - maybe we could get him to wear leather pants to work)

pencil gal - Draco is always on the winning side. Therefore he is on the Draco-side. Everyone is asking for answers, but honestly, if I gave them all too you in the first 2 chapters I'd be a terrible author. After all, you get 20 chapters into OotP and you *still* don't get answers. 

glacial - thankyouverymuch. As Black As Hell As Dark As Night has been deleted, because quite simply it was crap. I hope you enjoy this one much more though... it has a plot and *holds out green and silver present* DRACO


	4. Of Insight and Torture

****

Of Insight and Torture

Lights were moving and the dull early morning muttering of Parvati and Lavender made her eyelids itch. 

Hermione wasn't quite sure when her two roommates had become hulking male Slytherins. Maybe it was during the time when her luxurious four poster bed became a hard stone floor and what she was quite sure was shards of glass. Perhaps it was when her normal substitute of a teddy bear of Hogwarts: A History had become no longer a book, but a cool, piano player's hand. Or maybe the time that the hangings leaning around her bed became Draco Malfoy. 

Wait. 

But Hermione was no longer in Hogwarts. She was no longer even invisible. In fact, she was leaning against the man she'd sworn she would kill whilst he healed flecked cuts across her back, but most importantly - 

She was awake. 

"Didn't you ever hear my middle name, Granger? 'Salvador' - as in _Saviour_." The supposed bed curtains with messy white blonde hair whispered.

"Mal- Malfoy?"

"Apparently." 

"You – "

"'Yes?"

"You MONSTER!" Hermione raged, "GET OFF OF ME!" 

"Get off? But Granger, you are the one holding onto my hand."

In disgust she flung away the hand had she was admittedly holding softly and turned on Draco with capped curls flying. 

"What are you doing?"

Sitting back now, arms behind his head leaning on what used to be a till he looked a little too relaxed in a forgotten Muggle pub, a little insane even, that mad smirk now firmly in place. 

"I was saving your life." his upper class drawl proclaimed, "Crabbe, Goyle and Flint don't know you're here, but they're bringing others, so you might want to find you friends and well, sod off." 

Draco was surprised to find that something struck Hermione, sending her almost as pale as he was, she lost that brilliant flushed look and tears gathered in her eyes. 

"_Where is she_?"

"Who?"

"Don't give me that, Malfoy, where is the other Auror?" 

But she had already scrambled to her feet and was now rushing past many other decaying dead bodies, to one that mattered.

"Tonks? Tonks?" Hermione bend over the sleeping girl, "wake up! We have to go –"

Draco turned from the scene as his enemy's voice broke, as she frantically shook her comrade's long-cold body. Until finally, she stopped, shoulders slumped in defeat.  
"Malfoy? What did you do?"

"Get away from it, Granger, she's gone." He didn't lie to her, voice emotionless, passive. He walked towards the door that lead to the rest of the village hoping that when he turned around she'd left.

But she hadn't. 

Stepping towards him now, fury in her eyes that he'd only seen once before. When they had been thirteen. 

Her hand almost got to his cheek when he caught her wrist and held it tight. 

"I was telling the truth, Hermione, now get out of here before they get to my father."

His warning or her bruised wrist didn't calm her one bit, and in a breathless voice she snapped, "don't call me that."

Taken aback at her malice he caught her other hand in one of his, and brought her violently closer pulling off her black woollen hat as he did so. 

Anger visibly faded into worry in the captured girl's arms. 

"She was your cousin, how could you do it?" 

"All's fair in love and war, as you know."

"Why are you doing this? You killed _my friend_ and now you're apparently helping me." 

Sensing a change in the charged atmosphere Hermione watched as Draco's whole presence filled up with confusion. Something that wasn't quite hate shone in icy eyes. 

Then all of a sudden, as though she'd imagined it, the look was gone. 

"Because Malfoy's don't like being in debt to Mudbloods." he pushed her backwards, throwing her hat at her as he went, "don't try that." 

"What?"

"That whole 'I'm-Hermione-Granger-so-wild-and-beautiful' look, and 'why-don't-you-drop-your-wand-and-let-me-hex-you' thing. Because it won't work on me, Granger. Oh no, not this time."

"_What_?"

They both stood there for a long moment, eyes locked on each other and then, with an unspoken understanding they reached for they're wands. 

Raising her mahogany wand, encyclopaedia of spells she'd used many times with Harry and Ron, and a few they probably didn't know, opening before her eyes she –

"Hermione?" A voice both familiar and very distant called. 

Startled suddenly out of her to-the-death battle with the blonde haired enemy, her gaze was caught by the familiar rippling of air right next to the window and when she looked back to Malfoy he had simply gone. 

"Hermione?" Lupin asked again, him and his battered black robes appearing in the dark, "what are you doing?"  
"It was Malfoy," frustration cursed through Hermione as she flung her wand towards where he had once been standing, as her knees gave out again, "he killed Tonks."

- - - -

It had been a long night. Day. Night. Time span out of all recognition since the war had began, since he'd chosen his side, days merged with nights, and nights blurred into mornings. Fear of what he'd be forced to relive turned him to a creature of Pepper-Up Potion and long books. 

The particular book he was holding as he sat in his room's balcony, cloak drawn around him was his childhood favourite – not in the traditional sense, but it did have a brilliant ending. 

__

The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet dealt with one thing he would probably never understand. 

Love. A four letter word. It sounds so simple… and yet in the house of Malfoy it is as forbidden as blasphemy of the Dark Lord, as inconceivable as a pureblood being poor. But for him love was untouchable. It was wrong. It was something that Potter dreamt up when he wasn't off saving Gnomes from being de-gardened. It was the steel feeling of weakness bubbling up inside of you, a weakness that could only do two things: make you someone's pawn and get you killed. Draco, the last heir of the Malfoys and the Blacks' wasn't about to do either. 

People say lots of things about him, in those damned magazines, when they think he's not listening, or even when he is. Cold. Calculating. Attractive. Isolated. But he preferred something Granger had said. 'Colourless'. Well, it had been more like she had muttered it and a lot of words that you wouldn't think a girl like her would know as he passed her in a corridor once. She'd always had a way with words, that girl, he thought to himself. One of those intricate things that he'd always admired in her. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, least of all himself. Her intelligence had always been a point of speculation for him – how could anyone of impure blood be so skilled? 

He hadn't been lying when he'd let slip to her that he was mad she had been nearly indifferent to him at school. Always the first one to tell him to go away, stop her friends from taking they're arguments with him further, always the first one to doubt his involvement in something sinister. _Her _of all people. The whole of the Slytherin house had coiled around his finger, Potter and Weasley jumped every time he raised an eyebrow, girls were everywhere he'd turn, but for some twist in the universe she had not been. 

Hermione Granger, bookish and different from everyone else he knew, had the gall to not be affected by him.

Did it piss him off? Of course. Was he about to admit that it actually intrigued him? Of course _not. _He was a Malfoy and Malfoy's do not spare a second thought about members of the opposing side, be it the Goblin Rebellion of 1672 or wide-eyed Muggle-borns with flyaway hair. 

Putting down his book in the middle of a particularly long Friar Lawrence speech, he began to walk through the endless dark corridors that let do the dudgeons (helpfully, none of which ever led out the same way) to began his Death Eater Day Shift. Commonly known as Torturing Random Spy. What was it that his father called him? Ernie something or other, formally from Hufflepuff (which would explain rather a lot. Idiots! the lot of them!) 

Which, in his opinion, was a waste of time. All those traitors of Dumbledore's side didn't know much unless they were Potter, Weasley or Granger. Or one of those other cursed 'Order Members', and _they _weren't likely to give out any information. Draco, having chosen Voldemort's side by default, default being it was going to win, was ambitious and as his former house suggested, very cunning. But the small fact that his ex-Headmaster's lair was in fact in the old Black house, that rightly belonged to him was not going to be mentioned – since it would take all the fun out of all holier-than-thou Ministry member's snuffing it one by one. Damned Muggle Lovers. Damned Dumbledore and _damned Granger_!

"So Ernie, how is life as an Auror treating you?"

The stout boy peered slowly around the black, damp and dangerously cold cell and upon seeing one of the more famed members of his old school he let out a breath of relief. 

Surely the boy, who was slightly shorter and a lot thinner than him with an aristocratic air couldn't be a death eater. More likely he was sent to charm information out of him, because this down right _pretty boy _certainly didn't look like he was about to _Crucio _anything. 

How wrong he was. 

Draco Malfoy was in a very bad mood, as run-ins with Granger and currently unrequited Romeo/Juliet love will do to you.

"As musical as it is, the nasal sound of your breathing is _not _what I wanted to hear, Hufflepuff." Draco said, emotionlessly as he held a silver knife in the air between them, the Dark Mark visible against his white skin as his sleeve fell back. 

- - - -

The hot water ran down long chestnut hair, down a tanned back and puddled at painted-nails of small feet, but Hermione barely noticed the temperature as her thoughts raged - her mind played images that over lapped faster and faster as the water sped up. 

Malfoy's tightly clenched white fists as rolls of pain hit him from Harry's spell in the basement. 

The 'Hanged Man' pub. The empty shells of the inhabitants Little Hangleton that decorated the better part of the floor and walls. 

Malfoy's dark grey eyes full of secrets as she released the shackled chains. 

And then… 

Black. 

Because shampoo had just ran into her eyes.   
Slightly blinded as she stepped out of the upright ancient shower and straight into a thick towel nightgown, coloured like her mood. 

Black. 

The thundercloud that bore the features and presence of Hermione turned off the water and swept down the second floor corridor, not caring that she was dripping water from her hair, or that Harry and Ron blocked her way. 

"Hermione," Ron tried as he reached out to touch the shoulder of the retreating storm, "there was nothing you could have done – you tried – don't blame yourself." 

"We'll get Malfoy when the time is right," Harry said firmly. This at least, had a visible effect on the girl. She stopped walking. 

"_When the time is right_?" she echoed, "when _what, _Harry? When he tries to kill us again? Or maybe when he's killed me, or Ron, or you. Is that when Dumbledore going to let us go after him?" 

Both boys said nothing. 

"He said I acted indifferent to him," she banged her fist against the wall for emphasise and shook her head, "but he's the only one who-"

Hermione immediately stopped talking as she realised the magnitude of what she was saying. The only one? She asked herself, the only one who what? Could affect her this way? How could Malfoy of all people become so entwined with her thoughts? 

She did not say anything else. She turned. Carried on walking and slammed her door shut. 

Harry and Ron stared after her, and when the wooden _thump _had stopped reverberating around the dim corridor, Harry lost in his thoughts as usual, remarked to no one in particular, 

"I'm worried about her."

And his red haired best friend whom, as usual, answered Harry's musings replied softly, "Me too, mate. Me too." 

- - -

The shuddering boy faced his silver-eyed tormentor. 

"Are you going to cut me?" He asked suddenly fearful. 

Draco starred. 

"Are you going to kill-"

"I might well have to," he said flippantly, as his captive paled even more. "My father _does _say you've been lying to him." 

Draco lowered the knife that was the length of his forearm towards the informant before him. "Well?"

The boy didn't answer, but then taking on look at Draco's unemotional face and the knife he began talking, rather quickly.  
"Dumbledore's orders are to be stationed around your manor the night of the ball, 'cos that Granger girl and some other members of the old Gryffindor team are going to be at the party."

- - -

"I most certainly am not!" 

"Hermione-"

"No, I don't think you understand – I am not stepping into Malfoy's house! You know how much trouble-"

"And that is why, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted, "it is important to remain level headed about this, it is important to find out why after all of this, you are invited, and what they exactly want with you."

Hermione sighed, and although the times she faced were dark and dangerous she noted with some satisfaction that she had at least grown a backbone when facing her elders. She hadn't even blushed when she refused point blank to come out of her room. 

She was not a girl who often let her emotions get the better of her; usually she looked at the bigger picture. But some where in between Snape hexing her door of its hinges and witnessing the death of a fellow order member, a person she looked up to, and all of this centring around the blonde haired nemesis of her school days Hermione had become accustomed to throwing things.

"It won't be anything good- what happens if they just plan to murder me the moment I walk though the doors?"

"There would be no means to that end-"

"Except the death of me?"

"Quite. You're involvement in all this has magnified over the last few days, we need to find out what the young Malfoy wants with you."

"He could be just infatuated with her," Lupin said from his side of the table. Invoking a snort from Harry and Ron.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes Hermione turned again to Albus Dumbledore. "If I did go to this, what? Malfoy party?"

"It's the Malfoy Annual Ball," surprisingly, Ron informed her, "every year all the powerful Pureblood families get invited to the Malfoy Manor where they dance and I dunno, plan whose head gets lopped off next."

At Hermione and Harry's questioning glances Ron mouthed "my mum" as Dumbledore continued. 

"Mr. Weasley is quite right – perhaps not about the beheading, but the Ball itself, dates back to the oldest of the Malfoy and Black ancestry."

"And they're still having the ball even though everyone thinks they are in Voldemort's front row?" Harry asked, as he looked up when the word 'Black' was mentioned. 

"Yes," Dumbledore sent a nod in his direction, "which is my guess to why they have invited our Miss Granger – appearances for appearance's sake."

"Well, if that's true, if I go there it will make them look good, right?" Hermione said, looking across the table as if for appeal. "What would I have to do there? – I don't know anything about Pureblood etiquette."

"Then," Dumbledore answered elusively, holding up three silver envelopes, "it is our luck that there are two others invited that if my memory serves me correctly, most certainly will."

****

This chapter goes out to my dear friend JKR, who although has denied the D/Hr pairing, knows post-Hogwarts makes sense.

Frantic Authors Note: Ah! You have no idea how terribly tragically hard this was to write! My notebook (where I draft everything) says: "CHAPTER FOUR Of insight and torture – dunno. Make something up" which I did, rather appallingly as you can see, well ok, maybe not completely – I do have a special place for this evil chapter in my heart. I like the start especially. But reviews would make me most happy. In fact so happy I may even start writing the new chapter right away. I'm still not sure how long it will be – at least another four chapters. So wrote a one-shot that you can see by looking on my profile. Its quite good really, considering I wrote it because I was bored. 

Frantic Authors Disclaimer: I'm not even going to go there with you JKR! Squashing my poor hopes about Library lovin' with D/Hr. I don't own it. Damn. 

(Thank you one and all!) Frantic Reviewers:

Keladry2 - *hides under bed* H/Hr?! I'm sorry but my heart lies with Draco. And fear not, Harry will get better. Or I'll kill him off completely :D

Keladry2 - it's there somewhere! 

Bride of Malfoy - thank you :) I'll try!

cedar1- Sorry about that! 

Black*Draconis - *blush* 

candygoddess - thanks.

CheckerBoard -I've noticed there are a lack of post-Hogwarts-D/Hr too. Damnit. Which is why... mine is. You're review really made me grin, thanks ever so! (Will try and conduct a mailing list....) 

Amanda - at last! someone expressed remorse for Tonks! 

potts - yes, lol, Tonks is DEAD. I never really had a particular attatchment to her *ducks bottles thrown at head* 

Arafel2 - :)

hyparly4suger - yes yes, must pay attention to even the most trivial plot points ;)

SkYdIvE_babe - lol, no more vodka for us. 

bessorla - no! any reviews that mention "really" and "good" are just perfect :D

Rogue Pryde - thanks very much :D

one crimson tie – love your fic, btw, thanks for the review.

scholz03 - I did. I killed Tonks. *sinister JK laugh* don't worry, Hermione probably won't be dying too soon. 

The Perfectly Imperfect- It does, doesn't it? Will try! 

mystripedskirt - obsessiveness is always good.


	5. Black, White and Gold

****

Black, White And Gold 

__

Welcome to the Malfoy Manor, Draco thought as he descended the winding obsidian staircase, _a place where treachery, deceit and utter lack of morals are as much of an accessory as a cloak. _

"Draco Salvador Malfoy. It's been a while." The familiar appraising eyes of Pansy Parkinson swept the height of his body were standing in his father's hallway. 

"My mother invited you?" 

"She invited my husband and I, yes," Pansy's once shinning black hair was dull, the pride she put into her appearance seemed like habit and her now sunken eyes no longer held the self-respect they once did. "Narcissia thought we should stay a few days before the Ball, I hope you don't mind – we're staying in the Guest Tower."

"Of course not," Draco did not let his pity show for his old friend supposed lover from school, his mothers favourite for an arranged marriage. Pansy _absolute cow _Parkinson was her father's only daughter, which meant she, like him, had no choice in her future. But she unlike him did not have a mask and the Dark Mark waiting in her post-Hogwarts summer, she had a gold band and the hand of the highest bidder. 

"Theodore is just fine," she said knowingly, "have you parents got anyone in mind for you, Drake?" 

He resisted the urge to say he bloody well hoped not and shudder at the use of the nickname he had never really warmed too. "No they haven't, my father is busy with-"

"The Dark Lord?" Pansy inquired further, "Theodore said he saw you at the initiation, I didn't know you intended to-" 

Draco clapped a hand over her mouth muffling her speech, and then, with a glance around he mouthed to her "_even the walls have ears._" 

Pansy nodded dully, a sad look in her tamed eyes. 

"So how have things been? I heard you got the second highest marks next to Granger of course."

Draco ignored the mention of Hermione, though his expression was suitable vacant as he politely inquired, "Well enough, following in the line of tradition as you know. How is married life?" He felt he had the look of a cat that had suddenly swallowed a far too large bird.

Pansy, all formalities and conversation suitable for children of Death Eaters aside smiled widely. "Well I can't see it suiting _you_." "Remember the good old days, Pans? Before Hogwarts when you used to make me play dress up's in your parent's summer home? Remember when you dressed me all in red, and mother said I looked like cupid – and father said I looked like the devil?"

"Draco, what are you-" 

"How old do you think we were? Four? I suppose technically I was born _evil_."

"Draco, have you gone peculiar? Professor Snape always said you would." 

At the boy-cupid's look of surprise Pansy laughed, and then grabbing his arm pulled him in the direction of the dining room. "Come on, Blaise and Theodore are having breakfast."

- - -

A gloomy air hung over number twelve and the Order members had no time to grieve.

__

Can life ever go back to normal? Hermione thought as she drained her cup of pumpkin juice and feverishly thought of another excuse _not _to go to Malfoy's Ball. 

"I have a cold." She said meekly, and a faint trace of a smile crossed Dumbledore's features. 

"Miss Granger, you and I both know you are going to attend the Ball, because the Order needs information on the Malfoy's and all those in league with them – and you are going to do it because you know it's the right thing to do." He looked at her as though that settled it, and added as an afterthought, "and the entire Order will be stationed around the Manor so insure your safety."

He resumed his quiet watch on the fireplace. He had not informed anyone whom the other two envelops were addressed too, apart from they were 'important' and they should all move to a room more 'comfortable'. 

The 'trio' and Dumbledore were now in the dust living room of number twelve, a room not often used, decorated like the rest of the house in rustic reds, browns and chipped paint. A severely beaten three seating couch and an armchair were the only furnishings, aside from the large fire place. The headmaster had called it a 'snug' which was defiantly a matter of opinion. 

Hermione shivered, thinking that here in the summer months it was probably warmer outside that it was in. She sat resigned, in her now uniform black next to Ron who was being severely unhelpful by biting his nails and looking bored. Harry sat beside him, green eyes clouded over deep in thought. 

A cough was heard. 

Looking around the room, Hermione could see that no one had moved, and the coughing fidgeting sound was coming from the grate. 

And then, out of the ashes, in not her best entrance, (who could forget the leaving ball where she turned up wearing a near see through dress) was Lavender Brown. 

Dumbledore uttered a small sound, and Ron let his head drop into his hands. Harry and Hermione simply looked stunned. 

"_Lavender?_" Hermione exclaimed as her former roommate stumbled towards her and embraced her as though they were long lost sisters. 

"Hermione! Harry!" She squeaked, and then more solemnly, "Dumbledore!" And then, more shyly. "Ron!"

"Now that we've established you remember our names," Dumbledore said with a smile, "Miss Brown – I trust Miss Patil is on her way?" 

"_Parvati_?" 

"Yes, Miss Brown and Miss Patil have too been invited to this," he paused as though choosing his words carefully, "Malfoy Family function. They have given up they're time working at the Daily Prophet to help us, particularly you Hermione prepare for the," another pause, "party, so that we can assess the situation with the Malfoys fully." 

All four pairs of eyes turned on the blonde girl who smoothing her sky blue robes down and unaware of the three shocked expressions, looking up she smiled brilliantly. 

"Ooh, Hermione, you're hair looks lovely! And Harry, you're looking so tall, Ron I've always liked red hair – ooh, Parvati!" 

Hermione's second dorm mate was stepping out of the fireplace, dusting oriental robes and arranging her silky black hair. It was, as Hermione remembered d into a long plait. 

"Sorry about being late – had to check the stars before I left –" (Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks.)

"It's quite all right, Miss Patil, now I trust you girls know what needs to be done. Harry, Mr Weasley, do try not to cause too much trouble, I will let you know when you are needed for the Order." Dumbledore, that cursed twinkle now returned to his eye, stood and nodded at each in the room and left. 

There was silence for a moment as the door closed, and then everyone burst into speech. 

"Wow Hermione I love your hair-"

"What in the name of Merlin's big _toe _are you doing here?"

"There's an awful lot of dirt in that fire place-"

"It's nice to see you two again, how are you?"

"Has Dumbledore told you anything about this-" 

They laughed, as though it could have been a joke told in their old common room. Except now the stakes were higher, and they were all slightly more mature. 

"Well," Lavender began. 

"Dumbledore owled us and told us invites to the Malfoy Ball for us had been sent to him, and because we're all members of the Order it would be a good idea if we went to scope out the scene." Parvati continued.

"Of course we'd have gone anyway!" Piped in Lavender. "I mean, Dark Lords and stuff aside but these types of invites only come once a lifetime!" 

Hermione bit her lip at that statement – it was clearly what kind of reputation the Malfoy's were looking for, and Ron and Harry both sent the girl withering looks. 

"So Dumbledore showed us this piece of paper and told us to floo here, because Hermione is going too and she's not really-" 

"She never goes out and doesn't know how parties work?" 

"Aheh, he didn't really say _that, _Lavender." Parvati smiled. 

Lavender glared. 

"Well he might have mentioned 'blowing up' and 'charming and courteous would be nice' along with ''killing Malfoy at all costs' and 'not a good idea'." The Patil twin amended, with an apologetic look to the brunette witch who, in her opinion, looked a little off colour to her despite the drastic improvement of her curly hair. 

Lavender looked a little dreamy. "Malfoy." Anyone else would think by the way she said it a 'Malfoy' was actually a rather large piece of gold.

"_He _just killed a friend of ours, one of the Order." Ron said sharply. 

"Right," Harry interrupted, as Hermione was looking quite likely to hex the next thing that mentioned the name Malfoy, and they're redheaded friend was about to blend into his hair. "What have you two been up to since we last saw you?" 

The two girls both smiled and then the black haired witch answered, "Well, we joined the Order along with the rest of the Gryffindors at the end of term and then, we got offered jobs at the Daily Prophet!"

"As what?" Harry asked, curiously. 

"We both work for the Column of Astrology." 

"Uh-" Ron looked confused. 

"They make up star-signs," Hermione answered a little briskly. She wasn't the most tolerant of tabloids, or reading the future. 

Lavender made a sound that was a bit like "harrumpf" and then, catching Hermione's hand in hers she held it out to the girl beside her. "Parvati's got a real talent in palmistry." She informed everyone as Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. 

Parvati touched each of Hermione's straightened fingers one by one and starred at her hand thoughtfully. She traced the three vein lines with interest, and then dropped her hand as though it had burned her. 

"You'll meet someone tall, dark and handsome," Ron quipped breaking the moment of silence. 

"Tall and handsome," Parvati declared seriously, her dark eyes confused, "but not dark."

Hermione snatched her hand back. "I think we've all had enough of _cryptic predictions _to last us a life time. So what comes first when you're going to a ball, the dress, or learning not to blow the host's head off?"

****

- - -

"I still can't believe you still read this _bollocks_, Malfoy."

"And I still can't believe my parents let a no good _neutral_ into our _house of darkness_, Zabini." Draco relied scathingly, pulling his book out of the dark boy's hands. "And that 'bollocks' happens to be Shakespeare."

Blaise Zabini rolled his cool blue eyes. "When are you going to get it that Romeo and Juliet don't get a happy ending no matter how many times you read it? Or that Hamlet's father does die? Or Macbeth made a major mistake in marrying for looks? Or that I am sitting on the fence?"

Draco frowned, as he sat down languidly in the long black leather setae, holding his book in his hands and facing the window of his expansive bedroom. 

"You can't _be_ neutral, not for much longer anyway. Especially not after the attacks on London-" 

"I thought that's what you're parent's little soiree was about anyway, making all us upper- fence sitters realise that Evil pays well. And shit; look at your bedroom! It's like the size of the whole Slytherin common room. Black silk bedspread and all. And I would have thought your parents would have at least made the Guest Tower a little better than your room. Merlin knows your father's guests are here more often than you, Malfoy."

"I think the Guests Tower is just fine, and anyway it won't be much of a Dark Lord propaganda party, not with those bloody Gryffindors there."

"They invited _Potter, Weasley and Granger_?"

"Make that just _Granger _and some other witches– I don't think even The Dark Lord had the nerve to ask Dumbledore if Potter could… come out and play."

Blaise snorted as he continued his inspection of Draco's six-foot high and eight-foot wide bookcase. "I think even Granger was pushing it."

Draco bit his lip. 

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Blaise, piss off."

Blaise was immediately suspicious. Draco was, obviously, a Malfoy – and Malfoy's do not request. They order. So to hear this half-command issued in his general direction was not only a shock. It was revolutionary. 

Blaise's eyes widened as the slow, intricate mind of a Slytherin came to one conclusion. "Draco Malfoy. Are you in _love_?" 

This, at least, elicited a grin from Draco. "With _who?_" 

"I don't know, why don't you tell me why you get so misty-eyed every time I mention Granger? Even Pansy, for Merlin's sake, has noticed something."

"Granger?"

"Yes."

"As in Potter, Weasley and Granger?"

"Yes. Hermione Granger."

"Her-my-oh-knee?"

"Yes."

Draco's voice was cold as he said, "Get out, Zabini."

He didn't even hear the slamming of the door. 

The name tasted strange on his lips as he whispered it again into the hazy sky that surrounded one of the highest towers of the Malfoy Manor. 

He didn't know when this horrid, cursed affliction for Hermione Granger had begun. Was it in his sixth year when, suddenly, she answered his retorts with venom, or in that second that Voldemort had announced that he wanted her, alive?

Was it the moment he saw her, pale faced, wide eyed, unconscious behind the bar at the pub that lead into the Death Eater camps?

This whole trouble involving his father, questioning his own loyalty to the Dark Lord… it had started with her, the only way he was going to be able to assemble some sort of normalcy was to forget she ever existed. 

It was, however, not going to be easy.

Her, him, in that dark and damp basement, her face so close to his, her warm eyes concerned. Just remembering it his breath caught in his throat and feeling washed over him. It was a dull ache in the bottom of his stomach, which made him want to throw, rip, tear and break things, but at the same time made him peacefully still. 

Somehow her flashing eyes, curled hair and Gryffindor righteousness had become… important to him.

And it was going to get him killed. 

"Draco?" Someone said as the door was flung open. 

It was Lucius.

"Yes, father?" He said resignedly, his eyes not flickering from the window, as if, if he starred at it long enough he could have flown out of it. 

"Our Lord does not like to be kept waiting," the long black cane came into contact with Draco's shoulder, "and I do not like it when my son defies me." 

"Defy?" Draco asked steadily, as he met his father's eyes although his arm was now at a rather funny angle.

"Were you not going to tell me that you couldn't even kill one female blood traitor? That Marcus Flint was the one to kill that Auror?"

"You never asked." Draco said simply. But the effect of those words were resounding. 

Lucius dropped his cane, and as it fell to the ground with a clatter, so did Draco. The heartless man stood, his hand drawn back, his cryptic calm's looking into his sons that were so similar. Yet a completely different shade of grey. 

"You are going to pay for your foolishness boy, and once you have, you are going to find out everything you can about Hermione Granger, and were exactly her weaknesses lie." 

With that, his fist slammed into Draco's stomach and all hell let loose. 

- - -

"What do you think about red, Parv?" Lavender asked, holding up the long velvety crimson dress up to the brunette. 

"Shouldn't you be asking me?" Hermione asked, waving the dress away from her face with a careless flick. 

They ignored her. 

"No, too predictable."

Lavender heaved a delicate sigh and dumped the dress on a chair with the ever growing stack of garments that were either '_so_ last year' or 'wouldn't quite suit her completion, damnit, Hermione, were in England did you get a tan from?'

Hermione, feeling rather uncomfortable dressed in nothing but her underwear and a undershirt over sized tee that read 'Kiss the Prefect!' (Last years birthday present from Ron) in a closed up-market robes store, fussed over by the lady behind the counter and two former, (for which she was very thankful) roommates. 

"How about this one?" Parvati smiled as she held up a long, very thin, golden dress that could have been stolen from a cherub, the early afternoon light bounced off of it, making it seem almost white in colour. 

Hermione swallowed as the girl advanced on her, saying slowly as though speaking to a child, "Just try it on-" 

"There is absolutely no way I will go anywhere in that bit of material masquerading as a dress!" Lavender exchanged knowing looks with the shopkeeper who was busily tidying up after them. "It's _gold _for god's sake! I will look like something perched on top of a Christmas tree! I won't be able to move, let alone run if the time calls for it, no. No. No."

"Can you just imagine the look on everyone's face if you wore this, Hermione?" Lavender smiled as they backed her up against the changing room's velvet curtains. "Ron and Harry will _die_!"

"Not exactly the look I was going for thanks, Lavender," Hermione snapped as she collided with a mirror.

Parvati frowned for a moment, and then brightened as though she had come to a conclusion. "Well, the way I see it, Hermione, you can either go to this party and look stunning and shock the hell out of all this high and mighty wizards like Malfoy-"

Here Lavender pretended to swoon. 

"-or you can go, look all demure and un-Gryffindor-"

Hermione, who had been hiding behind the curtains, took the dress out of Parvati's arms and rolled her eyes. "I'll take it," she said firmly. 

- - - 

Half an hour later Hermione was seriously regretting her decision. It hung on her wardrobe like an omen, evil in its beauty. Treacherous in its low cut V neckline and enmity in its layers of whitish gold silk. 

Why she had agreed to buy it she didn't know. Why she sat now starring at in dread, instead of listening to Parvati's and Lavender's tips on how one should behave whilst dinning with killers, she was also very confused about. 

Why exactly she was here, buying dresses and learning etiquette as opposed to helping Harry, Ron and the rest of the Order devise tactics she did know the answer to. And it was all because of Malfoy. 

****

I would like to dedicate this chapter to the readers, as an apology it took so long. Thanks very much for not giving up on me! 

Damned Authors Note: I am so sorry this chapter took me about three months. Gosh, that's terrible. It has been by far, the most difficult to write – and we haven't really progressed, we just see new characters. I thought Draco's scene was quite repetitive too, but it's all leading up to the next chapter called "The Balcony Scene". Which really won't be long until it's finished (I wrote this chapter and that together) and will most defiantly be finished by Friday 14th. 

Damned Authors Disclaimer: Still Not mine. Sigh… 

Damned Reviewers:

Kate - ah yes, dark is good, and realism also helps. 

dangelu881- lol I will update soon, very subtle, by the way.

ashlee - its ok. I am also very excitable. thanks for the compliments. Think it up? Hmmm, I don't know, these things just pop up, all furry and twitchy I guess. Damn those plot bunnies. 

Arafel2 - depends how you define 'reasonably happy' ;)

Bride of Malfoy - thanks for reviewing again :)

Golden Lion of Venice - Thanks very much blush 

mystripedskirt - I think the jury's still out about Tonks. No, she irritated me too. I hope you like the ball :)

scholz03 - ack! I'm sorry! You hated the cliffie? Yeh, I have a tendency to do that... whenever I read one I want to shoot the author in the foot. I'll try and end the next chapter in a decent place. 

Thalion1 - PoshEvil!Draco has got to be my very favourite, thank you so much for the fantasic review! 

WolviesLover - sigh post hogwarts is all we've got now glares at JKR

candygoddess – 


	6. The Balcony Scene

****

The Balcony Scene

Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy.

The amount of time she spent thinking of him was quite indecent. Not that imaging his violent death was a forbidden thing to do. It was more the amount of time she spent thinking of him _not dying _which was peculiar. She thought about what his childhood must have been like. She thought about how his life must be now, and what drove him to become a Death Eater. She thought of all the times she spent fighting with him, and all of his bizarre and effecting actions since school.

The object of her thoughts was the type of boy her grandmother would have called a charlatan, and someone, had things been different she would have called 'handsome' which really, was a far too colourless a word for Draco S Malfoy.

Hermione bit her lip. She thought most of all, about what he was doing now. Was he killing, torturing Muggles? Was he being tortured himself?

She heaved a sigh and pulled on the dress, wincing in fear of it ripping, and stood in view of the mirror to examine the results. Peering closer to the reflection she noticed the freckles across her nose stood out more so in the pale dress and began looking for something to cover them.

"Where for out thou concealer?" She asked the small tin in which she kept her make up.

The transformation was unlike one in fourth year, at the Yule Ball, where she'd tamed her hair and looked completely unrecognisable. No, this was just Hermione Granger wearing a way to expensive dress, with slightly redder lips, slightly neater hair and slightly darker eyes, and _those childish freckles_. She groaned as she turned around only to discover the dress's muslin material clung to her like a second skin.

An embarrassed blush crept across her cheeks. Really what would her parents say if they knew she was dressing like this to party with the Upper Class society of the Wizarding World?

But they weren't here, and they hadn't been for a long time, so with a defiant smile at her reflection that looked ready to commit murder she left her room.

After descending the stairs, as quietly as she could as not to cause a scene (or trip over the bottom of her dress) she pushed open the kitchen door to discover astonished looks on both Harry and Ron's faces, Lavender and Parvati however just smiled. Behind them, in one hand a kettle and the other the invites from the Malfoy's stood Dumbledore his glittering eyes observing them all silently.

Ron blinked at her a few times. "I didn't know you were so tall, Hermione," he said quietly and tried to ignore the giggling from Lavender.

"You look really nice," Harry added shooting a raised eyebrow at his red haired, and now red -faced friend.

"Now, Miss Granger, Miss Patil and Miss Brown – you have a good half of the Order protecting you tonight, so rest assured that we are not sending you into the house of a notorious Death Eater unarmed, although, wands are not allowed inside the Manor." Dumbledore smiled warmly, reassuringly.

"You two aren't going, are you?" Hermione asked, worriedly, it was not often that she, Harry and Ron were separated and the recent divide (Malfoy) had put them all further apart than usual.

"No," Harry answered, "we're staying here, Mr and Mrs Weasley are coming over – and Ginny- just in case something happens," he frowned, "But nothing will go wrong, will it Professor?"

"Absolutely not. Severus will also be there and he assures me that he sincerely doubts the Malfoy's would risk warfare at they're party not after they have gone to great lengths to get yourselves there and reporters from the Daily Prophet. "

Both Harry and Ron snorted in contempt.

Lavender who was wearing a dress of light violet and blonde hair in a high ravelled pony tail at last stopped giggling long enough to say, "But how are we going to get there?" in an excited voice, as though the whole thing was an outing to a party rather than playing along with whatever plan the Malfoy's had in for them.

Dumbledore put down the kettle, he had been waving to emphasise his words and handed the three pieces of parchment to the three girls. "These, they tell me, will take you there, at promptly seven o'clock this evening."

"But it's five to now," Parvati pointed out, her darkly outlined eyes frowning.

"Not a minute too soon or late." Dumbledore confirmed. "Miss Granger, at the end of the evening it would be best if you apparated back here, rather than to find the Order members - and Miss Brown and Miss Patil I would like to express my gratitude and perhaps it would be best if you returned to your retrospective apartments rather than the Head Quarters, unless it deems necessary."

Hermione forgot her delicate dress for a moment, as she flew across the room and embraced her two surprised best friends. Harry drew back to say- "You'll do fine." But Hermione was already gone; all that was left behind was three invites fluttering to the floor, and three rather guilt ridden men.

- - -

Hermione, who hadn't even felt the familiar pull at her belly button, was most surprised when she found herself no longer in the kitchen but sitting in a red leather seat. Presumably the interior of some sort of transport.

"Where are we?" She asked of her two unusually female companions, siting back and smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress.

"It's some kind of coach," Lavender concluded looking out of the windows, "can't see a thing except my reflection."

Parvati raised her thin eyebrows, as Lavender didn't look away from the opaque windows. "Maybe it's like those coaches at Hogwarts…" She suggested.

Just as Hermione was about to open the door and see exactly where she was, the coach, the car, _whatever_ she was in came to a halt. And the door, previously sealed swung open.

If there was one thing that Hermione would learn from the Malfoy Ball, be it not secrets of the Dark Lord, be it not the whereabouts of the Muggle prisoners of war, but she did learn that in fact, that Death Eaters really could throw a party.

As she, Lavender and Parvati climbed (although, she stumbled just as effectively) out of the carriage Hermione was temporarily blinded by the sea of cameras suddenly flashing.

She was not one for gossip or looking at tabloid magazines, but it was well known fact that most celebrities hated the red carpet, and now she knew why.

The Malfoy red carpet was in fact, not red, but black velvet that shimmered with every flash of wizard camera.

Lavender and Parvati looked unfazed as they ascended the walk between the Manor. The blonde gave her an encouraging smile and waved to the cameras.

The catcalls were quite unnerving. Almost instantly every photographer and journalist alike that recognised her as one of Harry Potter's best friend and begun shouting questions.

"Where's Harry tonight?"

"How do you feel about the Malfoy's being supposed Death Eaters?"

"And here we have last years Hogwarts Head girl-"

"She's not quite been able to shake the rumours of dating famous Quidditch players-"

"Looking for a date tonight, Miss Granger?"

Hermione with a deep breath, held her head high and followed suit, only pausing to blink in horror as the familiar voice of Rita Skeeter called out from behind a particularly bright camera, "Oh, Hermione Granger? You look lovely, darling!"

Once reaching the incredible double doors of the building, which due to they're size had been the only part of the building she could see, she turned and gave an unsure wave as the cameras happily flashed away.

The sinisterly cloaked doorman gave them a nod as he opened the seemingly heavy doors.

"You okay, Hermione?" Parvati asked.

She nodded.

"Well…" Lavender trailed off as she finally looked around.

And Hermione wanted to run back outside. Malfoy's hall looked like a scene out of a movie involving the royal family. It was decorated with a checkerboard floor, several chandeliers, and what Hermione supposed half a mile of staircases and doors.

To their right, loud music was coming from the dinning room and there was no going back now.

- - -

Draco could pin point the exact moment Hermione arrived.

The Ballroom was suddenly, shockingly silent.

All forms of banter, compliments, snide comments, gossip and talk stopped, as though a spell had been cast upon them and all eyes were on the three young girls who had just entered. Particularly the girl in front.

Her two companions, one wearing purple, the other wearing blue stood slightly behind her, and Hermione pushing a stray curl out of her face squared her shoulders and defiantly met the eyes of everyone looking at her. Except him.

She looked exotic in a way he couldn't understand. Her dark hair was swept to one side, spiralling down one shoulder. Maybe it was the fact she was the only girl in the room wearing dress robes of gold so light it could have been called as cream, making her skin appear more tanned than you're usual English girl, her cheeks seem flushed, and her brown eyes vivid.

"Imagine, a _Mudblood _at a Malfoy Ball!" A woman behind him muttered, as though she had smelt something particularly rotten.

Draco sent her a venomous mocking smile, which soon shut her up, before turning back to where Hermione was making her entrance. There was no denying it, nor could anyone in this room argue, but Hermione Granger was beautiful.

And was completely unaware of the effect she had on people.

Suddenly a tall figure blocked his view, and handed him a long glass.

"You look like you could need this." Blaise stated, as he sat down next to his blonde friend.

"Please, Blaise," Draco said sarcastically, "last time I got drunk I started a riot in a nunnery, I hardly think hard liquor is what I need right now."

Blaise grinned. "What kind of Malfoy hides in the corner of his parents party when there are so many innocent young minds to corrupt?"

Draco didn't answer, and starred straight into the thick lime green alcohol for a pensive moment, before swallowing it in one long gulp.

Blaise patted him on the back, heartily. "That's the spirit! Did I mention how incredibly sexy you look tonight?"

"Did I mention how much you resemble a slightly better looking cow, tonight?" Draco tossed back, awarding the dark haired boy wearing white robes an amused glare.

Laughingly Blaise ignored the jibe. "Now, I am going to find myself a Granger to torment, as you seem to want to spend the night alone. Merlin! Have you seen her yet? Just look for the one with silky hair and legs from here-" he made a far-flung gesture with a smile on his face that wasn't entirely nice, "-to forever."

- - -

"Granger."

"Zabini."

"Would it be awfully strange of me to ask you to dance?"

"The only thing that is awfully strange about this conversation is that I have known you for seven years, and this is the only time you have ever spoken to me." Hermione cast him a disdainful look, mirth in her readable wide eyes.

"I was just telling Malfoy-" he pointed at the blonde in the far corner, opposite to the band, whose silver instruments had struck up a soulful melody, "- how sexy he looks tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

The girl frowned, but dared a look over to the corner. "If his robes were a shade darker I would have said he looked a bit like a cow," she said warmly, "do you know where the bathrooms are?"

Blaise's eyes sparkled for a moment, as though he was going to laugh, but instead pointed back out of the hall doors. "Do you know where your lovely Gryffindor friends have gone?"

"They're already on the dance floor." Hermione looked over at her friends, who she had waved off a moment ago, preferring to keep herself company by the drinks table after her rather unusual entrance. Shocked silence did not usually greet her every where she turned. So with a self-depreciating smile she said that they did not need to remain social pariahs along with her.

As she began to leave, setting down an empty glass of who-knows-what, Blaise called after her, "So it's a no to the dance, is it?"

Only too happy to excuse herself from a party were the main hosts had been suspiciously absent, and they're son was brooding in the darkest corner. Not that she minded, as it was probably best she kept to a different side of the room to him at all times. The hatred she felt at him was bubbling through her skin, though sharp remarks and a trace of angry blush were her only weapons tonight.

Finally with a sigh she reached the toilets, or at least an elaborate door marked WC and was just about to bang upon it when she heard a muffled sound. Pressing her ear against the door with a suspicious look around she heard two voices. One sounding peculiarly like Pansy Parkinson, and the other, that Quidditch brute Marcus Flint.

"- Of course everyone expected Malfoy to be the one to kill 'er."

"Why's that, Marky?"

"Well you know them damn Malfoy's – reckon they're so high and bloody mighty because they're related to-"

"What?"

"-You know what they say. Veela's. Vampires. All sorts."

"What has that got to do with you killing that Auror girl?"

There was a bang, and Flint's voice rose in anger. "Are you not listening? Everyone thought that Draco had killed her. In fact, _he _got hit with a curse the moment he stepped in the place. Suck, he was, right in a body bind right until I Adva'd her. Even your husband pats him on the back and says well done. Do I get a mention? No. And that blonde pansy- no offence- just stands there looking like something just kicked him in the ribs- "

"And what has this got to do with me?"

"Well I thought you could put a good word in with Nott for me-"

Hermione had heard enough. She no longer felt the need for the toilet; in fact her gut had twisted into writhing snakes named anger and hatred, they coursed through her, stronger than before. And then an icy feeling swam through her veins. Draco hadn't killed Tonks; he must have been the first person to enter the room, got stunned, then Flint, Crabbe and Goyle blasted they're way through and then Malfoy must have ordered everybody out whilst he woke her up. She put a hand to her face as she turned back towards the party – guilt stinging her.

__

She hadn't even given him a chance. Just point blank called him a murderer. Hermione cursed herself silently; remembering how his graceful poise suddenly had turned to granite. She, the one who had always been first to rush to his defence in school, to point out that he was not his father, she who, however bitterly, declare him innocent, had jumped to conclusions while he tried to help her for the second time.

She retreated to a secluded table once more, and as she watched her friends dance with some of the most powerful wizards in England, all handsome, all looking like regular teenagers except for that steely glint of malice and power in their eyes, Hermione wanted to apologise to Malfoy, wanted to assure him that she at least though him better that this. Better than power struggles and back stabbing.

But she couldn't. Because she was still Hermione Granger who he had probably just helped out of a sense of fair play. She was still a know-it-all friend of Harry Potter, she was still fighting for Muggle Borns, Dumbledore and all the equal rights she believed in. Three things that her twice-silver-smiled-saviour most defiantly didn't believe in.

- - -

Draco, watching the room a lion would watch his prey immediately saw the girl made of gold re-enter the room, one hand covering her mouth as through she had just walked in on something she wasn't supposed to see in an endearing manner.

He smiled the slow widening grin of a predator and excused himself from the girls, all with similar robes who had flocked around Blaise and himself.

A low voice shot through his tainted thoughts.

"Are you doing anything - or anyone - special after the festivities, Draco? Because maybe you and I-"

"Lets not and say we did, Millicent." He replied casually, side stepping the curvy ex-classmate, whom, by the looks of things did not know that other colours beside green and silver existed.

- - -

Oh no, not good.

Not good at all.

Draco Malfoy was approaching her slowly, looking heart-stopingly exquisite in robes of smudged charcoal grey, one eye brow raised in amusement of what probably was her looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Hermione frantically searched for the exits, but a mass of dancers blocked her view.

"Dance with me?" He asked, suddenly in front of her and suddenly extending a hand. At her pause he smiled as if they shared a secret. "I dare you."

She pointedly ignored him.

"Don't you like dancing?" He asked, getting closer, peering down at her on her chair through long lashes.

"I do," she said sweetly, as she stood up, "but not with you." She pushed past him, and headed towards a door she hadn't seen before, in such a hurry she didn't notice him follow her.

Behind swept back black satin curtains was a balcony – the size of nearly the whole of her old Muggle semi-detached house – and all she could see was grey.

Grey was the marble floor.

Grey was the night that stretched out in front of her.

And grey were the eyes of the boy behind her.

"Oh… my." were the only words she could muster.

Where the rounded balcony stopped, the world ended. Like a pathway of a giant the clouds were all she could see, but not above her, close enough she could nearly reach out and touch them. So Hermione, ever curious, tried.

Leaning over the delicate chest high wall that could have been sculptured by an artist she reached out into the mist, stretching –

"You look like an angel."

The statement, honest, and not made particularly as a complement startled the girl.

"Malfoy," she snapped, spinning around, a blush rising in her cheeks in embarrassment, "don't tell me _you _believe in angels."

"But I do." He said simply.

She turned away from him, wishing he would just, "go away."

He sent her a wide smile, making her remember the time they spent together in the Order's basement – where he was uncomfortably close and she could almost feel him smirking through his words.

"It's my house." He laughed, daring her to reply as he leaned far too gracefully for her liking next to her on the wall. "I forgot how beautiful this place is when the clouds are low. I don't know if its because the Manor is so high up, or that it's magical – because this is the only place in England where you can see Venus in the evening sky." He pointed upwards, towards the multicoloured sky and the one star that could be seen.

"How romantic," she commented dryly, trying to avoid looking at him. But she couldn't help it; she starred at the side of his face for a long moment. Biting her lip as she studied his cheekbones, his silver eyes looking at the stars, and his own lips, while he pretended not to notice. Then he swung his gaze on hers. The silence stretched, until Hermione found herself speaking.

"Why?"

Draco's eyebrows, which had been amusedly raised, flickered into a frown. "Why did I kill the Auror?" He asked sardonically.

"No. I know you didn't. But why didn't you kill me?"

He shrugged. It seemed to Hermione that he himself didn't know why – or didn't want to admit it. "For my own purposes." Was all he said, a slow easy smile sending a new shock through her.

"I don't think so," Hermione said, annoyed that he was treating this like a game, "I don't think that was the reason at all."

"Don't push me, Granger," he said darkly, the wild smile not reaching his eyes, as he stretched a long-fingered hand towards her.

"I think maybe you need to be pushed," she replied, and took it.

Would like to dedicate this chapter to foxxglove, Caprigrrl Lannoire, Thalion'81, and Arafel2. Three cheers for reviewers!

Lustful Authors Note: By far my very favourite chapter. Many apologies for that last one. This one was so easy to write, and very fun too, because who doesn't love plot-build-up-for-D/Hr-scenes? Named after the scene in Romeo and Juliet, which doesn't happen at all like this one. (All you Shakespeare fans will recognise the lines "Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy" and "Where for out thou concealer?" my attempt at getting sued by the Bard. J/k) Written whilst listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers, reading "Blood and Chocolate" by Annette Curtis Klause, and inspired by The Struggle by L. J. Smith.

Lustful Authors Disclaimer: Am I English? Check. Am I blonde? No. Am I JKR? No.

Lustful Reviewers:

Arafel2 - I hope you enjoyed the D/Hr scenes.

Thalion'81 - thank you once again for you beaming review! It really made me laugh :) I'm glad you liked Blaise, ducks from Hermione's dancing

candygoddess - there's nothing like a dress to prove you're actually a girl, eh?

KristenW07 - thanks for reading and reviewing :) come back soon!

Narcissa black Malfoy - I have fans? blushes thank you muchly, Madame Malfoy. I will write more, honest!

foxxglove - I know! Chapter 5 = WORST CHAPTER EVER. I think it's probably because it was just meant to be the start of the ball scene, but then it got slightly longer than anticipated. Thanks very much for your honesty!

hyparly4suger- Glad you liked that line. Hope you like the chapter :)


	7. In The Mouth Of Malfoys

****

In The Mouth Of Malfoys

"More tea, mate?" Ron asked solemnly looking over at his friend, whose forehead was against the table, and one hand was wrapped around an empty cup.

"You know," Harry answered, "it seems all we ever do nowadays is drink tea." He finally looked up, his black hair ruffled and a sleepy look in his eyes.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, pouring another mug anyway, "still beats poor Hermione's job - dancing with the Malfoys, eh?"

Harry allowed himself a small chuckle, propping himself up on one elbow as Ron sat next to him, shuffling documents of parchment out of the way. "I don't think she's too happy about it either."

Ron frowned. The Boy Who Lived's laugh sounded hollow. His green eyes looked shaken, and the lightning scar that Ron had never got used to seeing stood out boldly, like a child had drawn him and coloured it in the wrong shade.

"It was nice seeing me mum and dad wasn't it? Can't believe Ginny wanted to stay in this hole."

"Hmm."

"She has to go back to Hogwarts in two weeks, doesn't she? Blimey, seems a long time since we left."

"Hmm."

"I miss Hogwarts… I miss back when things were simple."

"I miss the cooking." Harry added, looking thoughtful.

Ron shared with him a conspirator's grin, not unlike his two older brothers sometimes wore when up to no good. "I think Snape might have left that bottle of gin in the freezer."

"Probably laced with poison."

Harry slowly met Ron's eyes when with best friend intuition they both raced for the kitchen.

- - -

Hermione was not sure whether the crowd of Voldemort's mutely coloured socialites departed out of shock or fear as Draco pulled her along as he led her from the balcony agonisingly slow, his head high as they parted to let them, or more specifically, him through.

He stopped at the centre of it all, a smile which was somewhat more genuine than the maddening devil's smirk not leaving his face.

The music, horrifically for Hermione had turned into a slow jazz song. The atmosphere became one akin to a purr of one lover to another, and equally horrifically, Draco had still not let go of her hands.

He bowed towards her, one eyebrow arched in mock salute of this momentous occasion, his eyes quite clearly saying; "A dare is a dare." And stood, in the same position.

Only when Parvati somewhere in the crowd gave a polite, yet pointed cough, did Hermione realise he was waiting for her to do the same thing back.

She bowed.

Her first mistake.

The onlookers who were all pretending not to look as the first Malfoy ever danced with a girl with tainted blood tittered quietly at her blunder, which she amended with a courtesy and warming cheeks.

Draco smiled once more, holding his pose for a second longer before gathering her quite unexpectedly into his arms.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "can the bold Granger not dance?"

"I can dance just _fine._" she hissed back, shooting a glare similar to the one's she gave rule breakers at Hogwarts to a woman that was starring quite unflatteringly at her hands on Draco's shoulders.

Although, in theory, Hermione could dance very little. The only other events that required her to dance was her Aunt Wendy's wedding when she was eight and that terrible 'champions dance' at the Yule ball. Both of which she was swept around by someone who thankfully, did know what they were doing (that being her Uncle Saul and Victor Krum).

Though Draco seemed to have gathered her statement was a lie by the lack of her movement. Pulling her to him and placing both of her hands on his shoulders, he held her very close, and then, moving they're hips slowly and appallingly erotically together, he leaned next to her ear.

"Should I kill you now?" He said, and as his lips touched her skin, in the way which had she been a less-logical girl would have had shivers running hopelessly down her spine.

__

Quite clearly, Hermione thought, _He is made of pure evil._

"Why would you do that?" She replied, bitter sweetness eating its way through her words.

"Before you stab me with your wand, perhaps."

Hermione wondered how it was possible someone could sound so smug, and yet move so gracefully at the same time.

"Oh, I wouldn't like to get your blood all over my pretty new dress." she muttered coolly.

Pulling away from her and spin her round in a seemingly effortless movement, Draco's eyes burned holes through the shimmering material and he gave her a wolfish grin.

"That _is _a pretty dress." he agreed and added, "I am thankful you chose not to wear red, that colour gives me a headache. Especially as it clashes horribly with gold."

But his smart remark and undressing glare didn't bother Hermione, what bothered her was the fact his hands were surprisingly gentle. And it was affecting her ability to breathe.

Instead of spinning her back with her arms around his neck, he pulled her to him but this time her back was against his chest and his chin rested on her shoulder as he swayed them from side to side.

"You see them, they're beautiful aren't they?" he gestured towards the rest of the guests, "each one of them twirling away in silk and lies, and each one of them, Hermione, would do what ever the Dark Lord says because that's all they know, they're pathetic, aren't they?"

His cheek moved against hers and each word he spoke was having a profound affect on her knees.

__

This was not good. Taking a breath, Hermione tried to speak-

"- But you and I, we're not like them."

And words failed her.

"You and I, you must have noticed, the similarities –"

"Do you not remember everything at Hogwarts? The taunts? The name-calling?" she snapped, suddenly all too aware of they're conversation as he spun her around once more.

"Well," Draco gave an absent movement far too graceful to be a shrug, or it might have been part of the dance, "no ones perfect."

Hermione stared. "It's a long way off between being not-perfect and wanting to murder everyone I know." She frowned as she followed the swaying and spinning of the dance. "The only thing we ever had in common was blinding hatred. And now you're saying what, 'we're so much alike' and – what exactly? That your heart wasn't in it? Don't be stupid Malfoy."

"Maybe what I'm saying is that my heart was in it too much."

Well, that effectively stunned her silent.

The silences stretched for long moment, and then, in a languid lazy movement Draco entwined his fingers with hers and pulled her close enough to hear his heartbeat.

"How can we be this close and have so many barriers between us? No one is near us and there are still people holding us back." He asked simply, a rhetorical question that was as bizarre as it was poetic.

The dancing stopped.

They're audience broke into polite applause.

Draco released her hands and turned away from her, leaving her in the middle of the dance floor, watching his grey back retreat like a wave to the ocean of crowds.

She wasn't particularly sure she knew what he meant, all that she knew was that his words _hurt _and she felt very, very confused.

- - -

Half an hour later, after a good deal of that green substance that looked smelt and tasted suspiciously like alcohol which lead to rather frisky dancing with Parvati and Lavender. Blaise Zabini hopped along side them, and despite his fellow house-members looks and raised eyebrows openly (or maybe drunkenly) declared "Gryffindor to be a house of many fine women and good Quidditch players!" The four happily spinning figures were in the centre of the dance floor, where Hermione had stayed long after Draco left, hell bent on discovering something worth visiting the Manor of which architecture she greatly admired, but whose owners – _Yes_, she thought indignantly, _all of them. _- She greatly despised. Her team members had foisted a long stemmed glass that refilled a little too frequently into her hands and adapted to her rhythm of fast dancing during slow songs and slow swaying during the relatively upbeat songs.

Suddenly, Blaise grabbed hold of Hermione's hands and spun her around. Dancing close to her he whispered, "Draco's reading _Romeo and Juliet _again."

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

Blaise's eyes danced as they did across the length of her body and back again. "He hasn't done that since seventh year. Anyway, I heard you, he, Potter and one of the Weasley's had an encounter recently."

The girl wrinkled her nose, intoxication washing away all teachings by her friends of how a lady behaves at a party.

"You shouldn't play with Draco," he added as though her actions had spoken, "he already chose a side and it is far too late to swap."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed lowly, glancing around for eavesdroppers to the conversation. There were none, as the crowd of uptight and seemingly so, Pureblood's danced in a ring around Hermione and her new partner. Lavender and Parvati who were closest far too entranced in making moves on unsuspecting wizards to notice anything else.

"You've kicked my ass far too many times in tests to play convincingly stupid," he muttered, "I've seen the way he looks at you. You must have."

"I – I –"

"Don't be fooled by the fact that I am here freely dancing with you, Hermione Granger, my father is not particularly enamoured with what side of the war we are on, as long as we come up smiling in the end, unlike many of my former classmates." Blaise suddenly had a faraway look in his glassy eyes. "Draco pays dearly for the small amount of freedom he has left – that will all change soon, I know – but what matters to a Malfoy in the end, will always be his name."

Blaise shot a toothy smile at her, as though it was a consolation prize, which she couldn't return. "I assume you came here for information, and now you have it." He turned, as if to walk away but Hermione stopped him, catching his arm. She opened her mouth intending to tell him that she really hated how Slytherins were so cryptically calm but what came out instead was, "I wish he hadn't," she stopped, realising that her eyes were damp, and then raised her chin. "Draco Malfoy is an insufferable slimy ferret."

Blaise winked, "Bet you wish you believe that."

- - -

"The party is going well, is it not, Lucius?" Voldemort hissed through pointed teeth.

The host flinched but took a step forward. "I do believe so, my Lord." The blonde man stated, bowing deeply as expected.

"Very unlike my other plans." Those simple words yet conveyed hatred. When the Dark Lord spoke like that it meant punishment. Tension in Lucius flowed into fear.

"My Lord is not pleased by something?"

All around the two half-men the room darkened like the mood. The candlelight flickered menacingly, and the books on the shelves rattled, the noise reaching a crescendo until the Dark Lord drew a breath, and spoke harshly, his voice rising from an angry hiss to a commanding roar.

"Where there was cowardliness there is courage, where there was anger there is only sickly stillness, where there was hatred there is _love_, where there was obedience there is only rebellion. And Lucius, I want your son back."

"I was not aware that Draco has strayed from your side." He bowed deeply once more towards the chair and his master. His grey eyes, so unlike his son's, so coldly calculating and crude narrowed. "Fetch Draco." He muttered to the house elf cowering in the corner of the room, desperately trying to re-light the dead candles.

There they sat as the long moment drew out, one's red eyes unblinking, as Lucius moved not a muscle from his poise, as Death Eater custom dictated. The younger Malfoy walked through the door, inclining his head at the Dark Lord (- though not quite as low as Death Eater custom dictated) and Lucius stood up. Facing his son he peered along his nose at him, an unsatisfied look upon his face.

"Have I come so you could blacken the bruises, father?" Draco asked.

Lucius chuckled not a trace of humour in the bleak sound. "Our Lord is unhappy with you're behaviour."

Draco raised a causal eyebrow. Silver eyes met hereditary silver. But where Lucius's held all the warm of an empty fire grate his son's grey was the merging of every colour of the rainbow.

After all, he and his father had never had a relationship. Only a battle of wits.

Draco's uninterested look faded as he saw out of the corner of his eyes the inhuman figure that haunted dreams of many. It would have been a lie to say his was not scared. It would have been a lie to say he did not fear for his life or the safety of his unbroken bones in those seconds he had a familiar bonding moment with his only father. But Malfoy's never showed emotions.

"Lucius, Draco." Came the drawn-out hiss of Voldemort, who was observing this exchange with a small smile.

"I suppose we have time for pleasantries later." Draco muttered, looking towards the creature held up high on a wrought iron chair.

Voldemort laughed though was far from amused.

"Where do you're loyalties lie?" Lucius asked his son, as though expecting a text book answer.

"Here." Draco shot back quickly.

"And yet you show little enthusiasm as you did before. Are the glories of being a Death Eater not what you excepted?" Voldemort's voice was laced with land mines. His tone as unforgiving as his words were callous.

"I do what is expected of a Malfoy." The boy replied, as his father nodded in the closest Lucius Malfoy could come to pride in his son.

The Dark Lord, however, disregarded the comment. "You are willing to do exactly what I require of a _loyal _Death Eater?"

"Yes."

Draco paused as the man and the monster watched him, waiting for a flicker of disobedience.

"Who am I, if not a Malfoy?" He continued, musing more to himself.

Voldemort smiled, slowly extending his cruel worm-like lips. "Now that this minor dispute has been settled - Lucius, perhaps you can return to the party?"

- - -

"Welcome, welcome, my friends, guests and-,' here the cold figure of Lucius Malfoy paused in his announcement and to Draco's eyes he was radiating anything but welcome. In a speech which sounding reminiscent to one made by Dumbledore (though far superior since he was a Malfoy) Draco's thoughts betrayed him sarcastically. He was standing on the stage, the band aptly silent, along with his father and mother, both beaming, though more like cats to cornered mice, at their guests. The crowd suddenly laughed at something his father had said, but Draco had long since drowned it out. He was now scanning the crowds for one particular face.

One he couldn't seem to find.

Blaise and those other two Gryffindor's Hermione must have come with were in the centre of the floor, a small ring of people and empty floor separating them from everybody else. Small enough to not to be obvious, but large enough that it was obviously on purpose.

He waited until the very ending line of Lucius's speech before once again heading through the applauding floor, towards his friend.

"Blaise," he started, slightly out of breath, and aware that his fathers haughty glare burning into his shoulder, '"Blaise, you wanker."

The boy in question, turned around from his conversing with the enemy, or rather the supposed enemy of the two girls he was with. "Oh Draco, I thought you were reading." He had one dark eyebrow raised in question, belying his words. "In your room. Alone. Now."

Draco resisted the urge to smirk, Blaise had always been a hopeless liar. "Well I was," he waved an impatient hand, "but have you seen my," he lowered his voice, "red and gold book, you know the one we spoke of earlier."

Draco's comments were not unusual, or even thought of by his conscious brain: he had been living with his father, or at least people who were to report back to his father listening all his life.

Even so, he shot a glare for old time's sake towards Patil and Brown, who were openly eavesdropping. Though, unlike the old times, the girls did not look shifty and move away, they merely starred as though he was a breed of cattle.

__

A thorough-bred cattle, his mind interjected quickly.

It seemed, Blaise, though brilliantly smart and his very best friend was either very dazed by all the dancing, which wasn't particularly likely since he had been attending these events since he was eleven, or perhaps he was half-inebriated, because he repeated dumbly, "Red and Gold... book?"

Draco's eyes widened.

"Oh _that_ book! The book with amazing legs and an amazing sized crush on you just went to the bathroom." Blaise leaned a little closer. "But she went a while ago."

The silver haired boy bit his lip unsurely, and then looked towards the corner of the room where both his mother and father were in terse conversation with figures in dark robes, and then towards the hall, where Hermione would be.

With a final nod to Blaise, he turned in the direction of the door, one eyebrow still quirked higher than the other wondering what in the name of Merlin he was doing.

Would like to dedicate this chapter to Talon, Becky and Lucy. Yay for converting people to the might ways of D/Hr

Ye Olde Authors Note: Oh argh! That was one very hard chapter to write. Took a terribly long time, and many many glasses of wine to finish. Even so, I'm not terribly pleased with the end result. sigh but these chapters are never perfect. Made listening to The Calling. Sorry about the bad Elizabethian language last chapter, I blame my school, honestly, we need to know these things!

Ye Olde Authors Disclaimer: Am I English? Check. Am I blonde? No. Am I JKR? No.

Ye Olde Reviewers:

Thalion'81- sniff i would just like to say thanks to my 'mom' and my dad and of course, Draco (whom I can't live without) lol, thanks for the standing ovation and the once again brilliantly hilarious review.

Arafel2 - just doing my part for the worlds D/Hr fans :D

... - Hermione has been in wizarding boarding school for 7 years, you think she knows everything about Shakespeare?! lol, just kidding, thanks for the tip. next time you could leave your name :) i don't bite.

Croutonforkeranon - is it? :blush: thank you!

scholz03 - thanks for the review :D and yes you can see Venus in England but you can see venus in the evening sky at the Malfoy Manor - which is impossible because you can only see venus in the morning sky.

luver-of-Tom - ahh! Blood and Chocolate is right after Harry Potter on my two favourite book lists! Yay for werewolves and witches :)

foxxglove - lol, i don't want to slap you! admittedly I am terrible with all those things mentioned, and no cries i don't have a beta. I did, but she seems to have left the internet world. damnher. Thanks again for the honesty, I will now search for one :D

candygoddess - Thank you! Yes, there will be some dancing... some tears... and then some more dancing.

ungojos - awww, thanks for the review. hmm, you'll get the tea and angels title in the end, trust me. (good guess though :P)

PinkTribeChick - cliched? covers ears and hides it was?! ahh! Oh, its true, but ball scene are always fun. (thankfully, Snape has not gotten awfully high, popped out of the ground and paired them up for a year long assignment - yet.) thanks for your review.

hyparly4suger - thank you 3rd person for shaming poor Hermione on her bad Elizibethian knowledge. It must be all those potions text books flooding her brain with useless knowledge. cough okay, I stuck at Shakespeare alright? And I have no excuse for it - especially having lived near Stratford Upon Avon! Thanks for the review :)

Elizabeth Tears - blushes hides face aw, fellow-name-e-of-mine how do I adore you? Let me count the ways! Thanks for reading :)

JeanB - I do believe theres a Blaise lover in us all nods of course, theres not much to dislike since we can invent him anyway we choose.

potts - will do!

thickney - giggles gospel? oh I don't... well if you say so! :D thank you very much for your lovely review, will keep me smiling all day, even though I have the flu coughs

hunni07 - lol thanks, i'll try!

Niquita - yes :D hopefully soon (or several people I know will try and bludgeon me with shovels!)

ahem I will now go burn my ears in the toaster. Bad awaysheflew!


	8. The Echo

****

The Echo

The Hermione Granger in question was once again making her way to the bathroom, hoping this time that she did not need to find out something that would confuse her life even further but just to wash her face. She had been standing amidst the gleaming witches and wizards of the party and looking up watching the villainous Elder Malfoy give his "welcome-to-my-manor-now-let-me-drink-your-blood" speech when she suddenly thought -

__

God, he's good-looking.

Or rather, permanently scarred her inner mind with a vision of him naked when she realised she was slightly drunk.

Or at least hoped so.

__

I mean, she thought as she took hold of the ivory handle that lead into the guest bathroom, and pulled, revealing the magnificent blue and black tiled room, the clawed bath bigger than her own room, and the wrought iron sink and taps no doubt more expensive than seven years of tuition at Hogwarts. _It would be okay if I was thinking about Draco and _his_ chiselled chest-_

Whoa, no. No!

Far too much alcohol. Shall never drink again.

Hermione dampened a embroidered towel (with the Malfoy Crest - those pompous gits) and traced her too-red cheeks with the cold cloth, heaving a sigh as she stood in front of the mirror. Looking up into her own dark eyes, trying to ignore the freckles that danced gleefully across the bridge of her nose - having escaped the coverings of makeup, she wondered aloud what on earth she was doing there.

Her answer was only the quietened echo of her question.

__

Bloody Brilliant.

The Hermione Granger in question was quickly loosing patience with this whole charade. No, it wasn't good enough that she suffer hours with her past housemates in order to learn how to behave (which was basically not to say anything too loudly, not attempt to hex anything, and smile while looking pretty - just another day at the office, really) but she also had to endure Malfoy in his far too sexy robe -

__

Which fell off his hips in straight, sleek lines -

More water Hermione!

This time she ran the cold tap, which hissed before realising water proving that while the Malfoy's house was far more exquisite and expensive than her own abode she shared with her two best friends they had the better plumber. She allowed herself a small smirk of the petty victory.

However, aside from checking out the Malfoy family - _I mean, looking at them! - _Hermione really hadn't gathered anything worth reporting to Dumbledore -

__

Unless the old badger wanted to know that Malfoy's muscles ripples when he dances -

Enough Hermione!

So, it wouldn't matter too much if she had a bit of a look around - upstairs in whatever direction Draco's room was. After all, everyone was in the ballroom and it wasn't like the Malfoy's were hiding Voldemort in they're study was it?

"Heh, heh," Hermione swallowed a small nervous laugh, before drying her hands, and patting her cooling cheeks. Reminding herself that had Harry and Ron been in her position they would have wasted no time in going through Malfoy's sock draw for information.

The door's lock swung open to reveal an empty entrance hall, the winding staircase, and the sound of polite clapping as her theme tune as she darted up the stairs, holding her dress aloft enabling her to run. She hoped no one would come out of the hall not just because she would be discovered but because whoever did would get a good look at her knickers.

- - -

Three flights of stairs, and several posh rooms later Hermione finally pushed open a door of a possible bedroom of the brooding git downstairs.

__

Which was weird, she thought, _because it didn't look evil at all._

In fact had it not even be a plausible room for Draco Git Malfoy she would have gone in anyway, the lure of the bed of dark satin sheets and expansive bookshelves called to her. Besides the books and the bed it didn't appear to have very much in it, sort of like an upper-class hotel room, but a hotel room all the same. It wasn't like her room, where the books were scattered like an obstacle course, leading to the hand-me-down bed, which she had to de-monster before actually sleeping on (just a small part of the dangers in living in Grimmaldi Place, she mused) however, apart from the book shelves and herself, there was no other colours in the room. It was in a dark grey monotone, another stark difference to the bright red of her own.

Nothing personal of Malfoys, nothing he prized. Just a large open room, big enough for a gym, and a enormous bay window that took up nearly the whole his far wall - leading out into the dark blackness of the crisp night. There were no curtains, no stuffed teddy bear, no broomstick, no posters, so alien to her that it was like no one really lived in it.

That, nevertheless, deterred her from entering, and with a brave step forward into the unknown territory and quashing the urge to look through Malfoy's underwear she approached the bookshelves with a muffled gasp.

Books, in every shade of green leather, black spines and silver imprint adorned the shelves. She ran a practiced finger down the spine of the first book in the top row, though she was tall she could barely reach it.

Yet something caught her attention on the row just below her hand, a plain black volume. Drawn to it like the curiosity that killed the cat Hermione pulled it out of the case's tight clutch, and it flipped open across her palms.

It was beautiful. Quite possibly the most beautiful book she'd ever seen, and this being Hermione Granger she'd seen a lot. Each page was stained as black as Malfoy's sheets, and Harry's ebony hair, each word was blood red, the script loopy and hand written. The script seemed familiar to her, so with a flourish she turned to the very first page and upon the thick first parchment page was written:

__

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and flicked back to the page it had opened on, frowning slightly at the curling serpent bookmark. It marked page 713 - chapter two of _The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet._

She shut the book quickly. This night was getting weirder and weirder. Hands still clutching the book, she relived the previous night she had been both baffled and mystified by a certain Malfoy.

__

It was cold on the front steps of the Hogwarts Castle, and Hermione drew her scarf tighter around her neck - Ginny had as usual picked out this certain outfit, since she was far too busy organising the unfortunate task of the Leaving Ball with a certain bafflingly mysterious Malfoy. They had barely spoken in the whole year they had reined as Heads. Hermione could not quite put her finger on the emotion that Malfoy had given off as they exchanged terse words as they crossed each other in the library and thinly veiled insults in the prefect meetings him trying to avoid her eyes, and her trying to avoid the entirety of his 'sort after' physique. Or as her room mates like to call 'fit body". The ball was as good as a success as her midnight robes (which where a little to fashionable for her taste having the bodice embroidered with different shaped and shaded blue stars) put had she been a little more honest with herself - and a little less naive for a seventeen year old - she would have admitted that being best friends with Harry Potter sort of put a downer on the whole both 'beginning and the end' celebrations. After all, most of her classmates (suspected Death Eaters not included) were taking jobs all over the world and she, whilst still having to field off Owl's from potential employers had had her name signed along with Ron and Harry for a lease at the Order. Or more to the point, she was going into hiding. Her parents were mad at her for not having the time to talk to them for the past two years and "Off Saving The World" apparently only works for the first five years. Then they start to think their only daughter is having a relationship with both _of her best friends. Hermione could taste her mint-flavoured breath on the night air that was exceptionally cold for a spring evening. The stars were burning brightly, so much so they lit up the Hall on their own - no need for candles this year Dumbledore had said. She supposed the Hufflepuff's had looked at them as a sign - or omen - of hope. The Ravenclaw's had looked at them and saw the night was as clear as their futures. The Gryffindor's had seem them and saw twinkling lights, like bonfire's and fireworks, all excitement and adventure. And the Slytherin's - well, actually she didn't know what the Slytherin's really thought about anything._

So wrapped up in her own thoughts Hermione Granger did not notice a pair of expensive dragon hide boots leaving through the Great Hall's door and standing upon the step where she sat.

"Kind of eerie, isn't it? The night being so still like this." There was a soft echo of those quietly spoken words, ringing through the night, apparently startling both Hermione and a bat (or a creature of similar description) from the Forbidden Forest.

Well, apparently she didn't have to guess at a Slytherin perception of a night like this. Typical, she almost snorted, a Slytherin would have been suspicious and sceptical of a perfectly good peaceful night. She forgot to realise that out of all of the descriptions she had thought of that his seemed the one similar to her own conclusion.

"Malfoy," she had replied, addressing herself to the dark boots and legs of the formerly blond head of her fellow school leader. Instead, she cocked her head to one side, her eyes never leaving the tall shadowy figures of the forest. "Nice hair."

There was a rustling of robes and Hermione found herself closer to Draco Malfoy than she had been since third year - he was sitting next to her.

She squashed the urge to push him (in a playful way, of course) and claim the step as her own, as she would have done with Ron or Harry.

"Why don't you sod off, Granger, before I push you off my step." Then a historic moment happened.

Brown eyes slowly met grey.

Then the grey pulled away. "Which one of you did it anyway?" Had Hermione dared a look she would have seen the boy run a hand through black hair, far more stylishly messy than her best friend could have hoped to achieve as it's owner sat in an almost effortless sprawl. "I know it couldn't be Weasel - it still surprises me he knows which way round to hold a bloody wand let alone point it. Potter is most likely preoccupied. Which leaves one other suspect in the case of the baffling mystery of the appearing black hair."

"Sure Malfoy, I see right through you, you know - you did it yourself for attention."

Brown eyes again met grey.

And this time they stayed locked. "You see right through me do you Granger? Then what am I thinking right now?"

"You are thinking - you're really going to miss Hogwarts, and these momentous exchanges." She replied sarcastically, not daring to look away.

Draco paused, as if she had given an answer he had not expected. "Close, but no gold star this time, I'm thinking goodbye Hermione Jane Granger_."_

"Good evening Hermione Jane Granger."

The aforementioned exquisite book fell from the girls hands, and her startled gasp echoed it's soft _thump _on the floor.

"Oh, it's you - the very rabbits themselves do tremble in fear." Hermione muttered, covering her moment of fright with bravado.

Draco, almost entirely made out of black as he stood in his doorframe, the torch light in the background making him stand out and strands of blond hair make a halo upon his head.

"I see you found my bedroom."

"I was looking for the bathroom." Oh how lame her brilliant excuse seemed now.

"I see you found my bookshelf."

"I was... looking for loo roll."

She could see him smirk now, even in the dark. But the moment of humour was fleeting as he turned and closed the doors. His eyes taking on the appearance of wide saucers now, so out of character from their school days, so lacking in the control he normally excluded, the pride he usually carried, and the glaze of ice that reflects the onlookers emotions straight back.

"I don't blame you if you hate me, you know," Draco smiled into the darkness of the room, they're vision only aided by the light of stars that shone through his window. "Lots of people hate me."

Hermione snorted, yet took a wary step backwards towards his bed. "Oh please, Malfoy, you know you love the attention -"

"Do I?" He answered, one intense eye mocking her, and the other laughing.

"Yes," Hermione put her shaking hands behind her back and tried to stifle the urge to run, and run far. There was an atmosphere building between them, growing like a storm, she couldn't control it, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. "Why else would you dance with me, tell me in paraphrased words that there's something going on, why else would you follow me up here? Follow me to the Order - and I know you did - that spell was linked to me - when there's nothing between us. We're not friends. We're not even _meant _to be talking."

Hermione took another step backwards. "When your a _Death Eater._"

Draco gave a hollow laugh. "Believe me when I say I've paid for that misconception." But he didn't laugh when he said a little quieter, "believe me when I say I'm not my father."

"Your doing a good bloody impression, with your secretive little sayings, Malfoy, you are quite possibly the most infuriating person I have ever met. Are you going to chase me around forever? I don't care how you got into the Order Headquarters' anymore - just tell me what it is your always holding back from me. I mean it, no more lies, no more half truths, I'm sick of worrying what it could possibly be that you want with me!"

Draco, who had been looking at his shoes during Hermione's slowly loudening tirade, suddenly met her eyes and she _knew. _Eight years of tension, four of unrequited attraction, and one whole night of starring at each other wishing it wasn't so, suddenly were all gone.

Vanished, like a fading echo.

Draco was abruptly in front of her, those hands once again on her arms, taking up all of her vision, her eyes captured by his lips she had never really noticed before. That was until they descended upon hers in a brief feather touch.

Startled by this timid action of his soft mouth she was frozen in place for a moment, then Hermione kissed his bottom lip firmly and then his top, before the contact dissolved into a deep sensual kiss that caused her insides to melt. Caught between fear, passion and a strange sort of longing Draco and Hermione clung to each other.

"I don't want this..." Hermione whispered, as Draco held a finger to her lips and kissed her neck softly. Only when he had removed his had could she continue. "...To end."

- - -

Draco smoothed down an absent lock of Hermione's hair.

He revealed in that fact for a moment.

__

Hermione's hair.

Not Granger's hair.

Not that-Muggle-born's-hair. Or something far more offensive.

He sighed softly, and wondered how on earth he had gotten through eighteen long years of not being this close to her, how he had gotten through eighteen long years of never looking deeply into her warm russet eyes. It should have been illegal to call them just 'brown' he thought, 'brown' was far too colourless for anything describing _Hermione_.

"If you think for one minute that you lying on top of me on your _evil _black bed messing up my hair is _romantic _Malfoy, you have another thing coming." She muttered, a little out of breath.

"I wasn't really thinking _romantic_ -" He replied, not bothering to hide his smirk or the fact he was reaching for another strand of hair.

"I have to go." Hermione began to sit up, which was no easy feat trapped beneath a rather taller counterpart, but some how the soft touches of her chest against his was far more sensual than all of his previous late-night fumbling.

But even as he adjusted his weight to stay on top of her, she had rolled out from under him. Golden dress wrinkled now, and hair - as she had assessed - was messier than before.

Draco lay on his bed for a second longer, face down, breathing in the distinct smell of Hermione - a mixture of cinnamon and warm nights - trying to quash the depth of the completely un-Malfoy feelings he was having, before joining her vertically again.

"I really do have to go." She said again, not moving an inch.

She was waiting for something, he realised, she was a little ruffled and awkward in his parents home, and slightly bruised lipped from all the kissing, but Hermione was no fool. They had been laying on his bed in their own little world for the better part of an hour, the soft secretive whispers of forbidden romance still warm on his neck but ice was curling through his stomach in a way he hadn't felt since he had been eight and had broken a vile of his mothers potion. A potion he wasn't supposed to play with.

"You want me to say I want to go with you, don't you?"

Hermione gave him a small smile as though she'd already anticipated that answer.

"You won't," she said, sounding her thirteen year old self with a right answer. "You're not quite ready to give this up." Had her thirteen year old self be filled with the wisdom that only comes with the hard crushing realisation of reality, warfare, and a tangled romance with someone she really shouldn't care for.

Draco knew she didn't have to specify what _this _was. He knew she meant _this _was side he had long chosen.

"I can't promise you forever... or even tomorrow, Hermione."

There was a brief pause.

"Then I'll see you later on," she smiled again, "Draco." And then in a blur of golden robes and unruly hair she had gone, leaving Draco standing alone in his room a wide real smile upon his lips, a fallen Romeo and Juliet book, and the soft echo of her footsteps that carried her away from him.

**__**

Dedicated to the many reviewers that yell: When are they going to get to-bloody-gether?

Dancing With Happiness Authors Note: That's it! They're finally together (its not the end, of course!) but yay! Hermione and Draco are _together _and that's all that matters. Well, apart from the actual end of the story. I do believe it is my very favourite chapter. And it took me an awful long time think of the title, but then some how it all fitted together nicely. The flashback scene was the result of one nights late inspiration and Sarah Mclachen songs. I had to stop there because I was steadily loosing grip on reality and had begun to warp Draco. Was it too angsty? Was it too OOC? Do I care? No! Because they're finally together!

Dancing With Happiness The Next Episode: We take a trip to Hermione's bedroom, Blaise is his helpful self, and Draco has a plan (though it's not what you think.)

Dancing With Happiness Reviewers:

Arafel2 - bloody hell that was quick, thanks for the newest review :D

Elizabeth Tears - Hehe, it wouldn't be so interesting if Draco admitted it right now!

foxer - yes there are. sorry. I need a beta. looks around anyone?

candygoddess - lol thanks. I write my one liners at random times and keep them in a notebook, so at random intervals characters can pop out with them.

Hermione Double - you've read it more than once? wow. thanks lol, I too find tension and darkness better than fluff! comparing me to JKR? woot

hyparly4suger - ah sorry about that!

BlackDraconis - your not mental! at random times I do pretend I am JKR and wield the mighty Harry Potter Pen! Thanks very much for the wonderful review!

NotYourAverageSchoolgirl - thanks very much! all those excellents? lol, surely not!

potts - but wheres the element of surprise?! lol thanks :D

Thallion - thanks for the review, and the uh... dancing! Oooh, Draco in shades and a tux faints

arbitrary - thanks very much! sorry everyone is despairing with the time in between chapters - you know what The Muse can be like. Tricky git. Wouldn't say no to that wine though :D

glacial - thanks very much, I'm not overly fond of that chapter name - I guess alliteration is good though.

PinkTribeChick - thanks :D I'll try.


	9. Flew And Flown

****

Flew And Flown

"Are you feeling suicidal, Draco?" Rang the voice of Blaise, as they sat in the Manor's, like everything else, elaborate, garden.

Draco leant back on the stone bench, tearing his disdainful glare away from a marble cherubic angel that sat eyeless-ly staring back at him from the lawn.

"Only in the morning." He replied, a smirk lighting one side of his mouth, several buttons of his dress robes undone down the front and hair askew.

"You and Granger, _snogging? _Bloody hell..." Blaise trailed off and because cursing in his native tongue, until the blond young man let out a pointed cough.

"You really ought to teach me some Italian," Draco said, his head to one side, smirk not lifted, surveying his friend, "it's really quite sexual."

Blaise didn't bother replying, and instead watched the hiss of blue smoke from Draco's only Muggle habit - of smoking - trail away into the diminishing night sky. "So you spent the night snogging her, whisking her around you're ballroom and now you're in a relationship?"

"Of sorts."

"So this is just a temporary right? You're sick of being the Evil Heir of Malfoy and want to date a Muggleborn, who happens to be in the inner circle of you're enemy? Have you completely lost all characteristic qualities?"

"By characteristic qualities you mean torturing Hippogriffs, killing Muggles and not washing my hands after the bathroom, Zabini? There are obstacles, you're right, but since when has that ever stopped me?"

"Touche, Draco, but you're risking your life here with Hermione Granger. _Hermione bloody Granger._"

"She's... different than everyone else. Perfection in paisley pyjamas." Draco said, throwing a last dirty look towards the cherub. "Sort of angelic."

Blaise paused. "Amazing legs too."

Draco shot him a glare that any heir of Malfoy would have been proud of.

"I mean, she must mean something to you, after all your last dalliance wasn't going to cost you your inheritance." Blaise considered this for a moment. "Or worse. So what are you doing to do about this, this _forbidden romance,_ after all, you are well versed in the chronicles of Romeo and Juliet, no?"

Draco exhaled in an angry breath. "Believe me, Zabini, when I say what is happening between Granger and I will not result in the tragic and heartbreaking deaths of us both, and Potter and Our Lord will not kiss and make up in wake of what has befallen us star-crossed-lovers." Draco paused and let out another puff of smoke. "For one thing, Granger is much to clever to not check for a pulse."

"Sure, _compagno_, but how is it going to work out between the two of you, whilst she calls 'Our Lord' 'Mortal Enemy?'"

- - -

Several miles from Wiltshire, the certain 'Granger' was sick of wondering the same thing.

"Potter, Weasley!" She called, in a frankly far too good of Professor Snape, as she clamoured out of the fire place in the living room. "Granger reporting for duty-" She slammed open the kitchen door, leaving her heels in her. "-Whoa." Only to find her two best friends slumped over one another, and the large bottle of that very same Professors Emergency Vodka on the table. Right next to they're entwined hands.

Blinking slowly, Hermione wasn't quite sure which part was more shocking.

"Hermione," Harry said, very slowly. "Why is it so bright in here?"

"_Nox_." Hermione whispered softly and the candle light above them, hung on a medieval looking chandelier died. "What are you two _doing_?"

Harry began to untangle himself from Ron, starting embarrassedly with their hands, which in turn woke up the red head.

"Well," Ron explained, "we were mad that you had to go to that Malfoy party of Death-"

"Annual Ball." Hermione corrected automatically.

"Right, but anyway, we took it out on the alcohol."

The girl sat across from them on the heavily burned and stained, but none the less characteristic oak table, and wide eyed asked, "how much did you drink?"

"Er," started Harry, "we only had the one of these little cups- before falling asleep."

Hermione's eyes widened a little more, and she was having great difficultly in suppressing the urge to roll them.

"Obviously you were so _very _worried."

"But how was it?" Ron asked.

The girl darkened slightly, but fearlessly kept looking at her friends. "Uneventful. A whole lot of propaganda - nothing that would stand up in a trial though."

"The Order told us Parvati and Lavender lost you for a while."

A grin not unlike the one's Hermione usually gave when she was breaking a rule appeared on her face, a little apprehensive but a whole lot mischievous.

"I thought I would do a little snooping - Trio style."

Both her friends returned her beam now.

"How was the food?" Harry asked.

"Poisoned?" Ron injected.

"Urm-"

"Was there alcohol?"

"Did you spill it on anyone?"

And then together: "Did you dance?"

Hermione let her gaze drop until it reached a patch of candle wax on the table. "Yeah, I had to dance with Malfoy."

A silence matched her confession.

"That git," said Ron with some venom.

"But I did find out something, something important," Hermione implored, honesty matching her wide eyes, " that he didn't kill Tonks."

Harry's fist slammed down on the table. "How do you know that?"

"I heard Pansy Parkinson talking in the lavatory." She replied, slightly taken a back at Harry's sudden swing.

"Surprise, surprise once again Hermione jumps to Malfoy's defence." Snapped the black haired boy.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione said, standing up.

"You always were the first to say he wasn't involved at school, weren't you, Hermione?" Harry said, rising to his full height.

"Cheating at Quidditch doesn't make anyone a killer."

"No, but that mark on his left arm practically declares it, doesn't it?"

"I told you exactly what I saw that night, and I never saw him hex her, I was mistaken-"

Harry laughed bitterly.

"So he's a good Death Eater, Hermione? He's been neutered?"

"He came here that night to tell us something, something _important_."

"Right, I see, so Malfoy - who has always hated us shows up, in a house guarded by God knows how many spells, and escapes, kills our friend and you reckon he wants to tell us something _important._ You've always had this _thing_ for bad boys haven't you?"

Hermione bit her lip in outrage, and then said softly. "I know he's on _they're_ side, Harry, but it's not always as black and white as you make it seem."

There was a pause for a moment, before Harry turned on his heel and walked away. Then the dull, and familiar to both Hermione and Ron, thud of Harry's door slamming.

"Why doesn't he ever listen to me?" Hermione questioned herself.

"Hermione," Ron said gently, his cornflower blue eyes willing her to understand, "he feels so helpless, you know?"

The girl shook her head from side to side softly.

"Somewhere deep inside of him he just holds this picture of how he wants everything to be, of before the war, and the something clouds that - the smallest thing, the wrong brand of tea, Malfoy on the blink, and it's like he's working towards nothing."

"It's the same for all of us." Hermione muttered, dropping back into her seat.

Ron pushed his chair back with a scrap on the tiles, and stood next to his childhood friend. "You're right, but he's the Bloke Who Lived." Ron kissed her on the forehead. "Harry was really worried about you going tonight. We both were."

Hermione curled, cat like, in her chair. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

Ron smiled. "I'm sure that's what you'll say next time you want rescuing from a giant troll."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, quite aware that it was going to ruin her point.

"We're both scared of what Malfoy wants with you," Ron said, turning serious and not at all like the carefree, brussel sprout spitting boy he once was, "I'm not the brightest broom in the shed, Hermione, but I know - so does Harry, that something's going on. Just be careful, you promise? Don't bite off more dragon than you can chew."

Hermione frowned she and Ron went off to bed, the thunder crackling over head an ominous sign.

- - -

And there it was, in between number 10 and 14 was number 12 Grimmaldi Place, a place he had never seen from the outside before – just like the many people that passed by it everyday not knowing that a haunted house of Black lived beside them.

Perhaps it was better those Muggles didn't know it was there.

Perhaps it would have been better for everyone concerned that _he _didn't know it was there.

Perhaps he thought too much.

But as Draco flew closer, his invisible form unable to be detected by its inhabitants, (Courtesy to one of the many dark objects that resided in the Manor), he felt like he had just swallowed something sharp, pointy and possibly made of bats.

He was going to see _her _again.

Draco flew silently despite the conditions, of rain, sleet and what he expected an minute to be thunder, an expert after his school days, to the other side of the hidden house. Crammed into a secluded high walled area between it's neighbours equally as small, but much more cared for lawns lay a tiny garden that was home only to a single washing line and a bit of ill looking grass. Hovering closely to the house a window, on the third floor next to the room with hideous moth eaten (and thankfully closed) orange curtains a large window caught his attention. The rain-splattered glass was suddenly flung upward, and the muslin cream drapes flew outwards, and a single hand brushed back the thin material.

It was Hermione.

The single most peculiar, extraordinary and most lovely of all the thorns in his life.

He watched her peer out into the night, as though looking for a sound which had disturbed her. For a moment, her wide almost melancholic eyes paused on him, and then she moved away from the window.

Draco flew higher. He was now level with the dimly lit room. To his amusement, but not exactly his surprise the room was crimson red. It was lit by Christmas lights, and housed only three pieces of furniture – a double bed, the white sheets screwed up, a wardrobe and a desk. All around the room there was books, which confirmed, if her presence had not, the owner of the room.

The door of the red hole in the wall was closed and Hermione, to him a vision in stripy pyjamas, sat facing the mirror on a small dresser, removing the remnants of the party's requisite make-up.

Draco flew closer still. If so inclined he could have touched the open window sill with his hand.

"There is a doorbell, Malfoy." Came the humourless tone of Hermione.

"Because everyone was so hospitable last time."

And the invisibility spell shrouding him fell away.

The daring and all at once villainous face of Draco Malfoy wearing what one could only describe as a _bad, bad _smirk and a half damp cloak appeared.

Hermione gulped.

"Hello Hermione." He said

Hermione turned and faced him.

"We're on first name basis?" She asked, crookedly and added, "Draco."

The said boy nearly fell off his broom.

"Can I come in?"

The girl nodded and in an instant Draco was standing in her wooden floors, holding his broom tentatively, looking like an expensive doll on a shabby teddy bear shelf. A crisp black contrast to the warm red.

A fact that Draco didn't miss.

"I take it you brought the Gryffindor common room with you?"

Hermione looked as though she was going to laugh, for a moment, but muttered, somewhat sheepishly, "Well... I came back from the Burrow one day, Harry and Ron had painted it... I thought since they'd gone to all that effort it wouldn't be very nice to mention my room now resembles a brothel."

Draco smiled a very real smile, as if someone had lifted a weight from him.

"Why is it - Hermione - that whenever I'm around you suddenly everything is going to be alright." Draco, whom had hardly suspected his slightly impish - if anyone could describe a Malfoy as such - remark to be as moving as a Shakespeare line was most surprised when he suddenly found Hermione's arms around his neck and cheek against his collarbone. Not that it wasn't entirely enjoyable.

While Draco was pondering this, Hermione had never before realized Draco Malfoy capable of butterfly kisses.

Breaking away from her far enough to feel his lips moving against her skin he asked, deepening his voice playfully, "Now that you have me in your Gryffindor brothel, Miss Granger, what are you going to do with me?"

There was a brief pause as Draco and Hermione regarded each other. Hermione's part was of slight embarrassment and slight longing. Draco, however, was continuingly staring at Hermione's lips.

"Can we take it slow, Malfoy?"

Hermione placed her hands on Draco's hips, damp material clutched between her fingers.

The blond's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "We can do anything you want."

"Good." Hermione said, sliding her hands along to Draco's collar, where his cloak came undone.

Draco opened his eyes, pupils slightly dilated as Hermione pulled apart his shirt, lightly, and began to push it down his arms. She ran a hand across his bare shoulders, all while chocolate eyes focused on his.

"Not slowly, then Granger?" Draco breathed.

"No. Not slow."

- - -

"I have a question."

"You always have many."

"Can I ask it anyway?"

"Why not?"

"Did you mean what you said?"

A pause. "That doesn't really narrow much down."

"When I asked you, at the Ball, if you believed in angels. Did you really mean it when you said yes?"

"I did."

Another pause. "I won't hold it against you."

"Why is it important?"

Hermione sat up, clutching the sheet to her bare chest and shaking her hair out of her face. The moonlight danced across her cheeks, nose and played along side her freckles. Her eyes still cast in the darkness so he was unable to see her widened pupils and the importance of her questions.

"Muggles have a thing called God."

"I've heard of it." Draco replied, moving forward so he was entirely out of the moonlight that bathed them, window still open since Draco had flown in, rain still pouring down. Hermione's room a mess of books and clothes.

"This last year, since it's all started, since we're not school children anymore, I've seen things - death. I want to know we're not alone."

She can no longer see his eyes, he cannot see hers. It's a stale mate.

"I believe in angels, Granger. Furthermore, I think I know they exist."

It was perhaps a sign of how desperate things had got since the year she left school. The girl that had once relied on facts, figures and cold written words now wished for nothing more than a ray of hope, of guardian angels, of tamed dragons.

Which was why, in a quiet voice she asked next, "why?"

"Because in the end we all fly - and who else do we steal wings from?" Replied Draco, easing back against the pillows, contrasting with his mused hair.

"I have another question."

"And I'm what, surprised?"

"Are we together?"

"Granger, it is you, me, us, together against the universe."

"While as romantic as that sounds, Draco, there's a lot of obstacles -"

Draco cut her off pressing a finger to her lips. "I don't see anyone between us right _now_."

**__**

Dedicated to the very wonderful, the very brilliant, Xia.

Breath-Holding Authors Note: It's scary to think I began this story at the beginning of the year. THE YEAR. And now it's nearly over. How time flies. I felt for sure when I started, that it wouldn't take more than the rest of the summer to finish - I used to look at fics that spanned years and shake my head, and now it is 11 months since I began and by the looks of things, it won't be finished until 2005. And I haven't changed the original story line. Hopefully by the time Tea and Angels is, indeed, finished that the sixth Potter book will be out. But I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, as you can probably tell - this chapter was awful to write. It was meant to be somewhat wistful, mysterious, and romantic, and in the end, it just came off as stupid. sigh The bedroom part is meant to be left up to your own imagination. As I can't write sex. In theory, I can, but only because I read a lot of slash. Which wouldn't really work here.

Breath-Holding The Next Episode: Alls not well in Paradise. Expect a twist, and witness the first few days of Draco and Hermione's relationship.

Breath-Holding Reviewers:

Elizabeth Tears - its always more, more, more with you isn't it? :P Love yah darhling. Thanks for reviewing.

RedAndGold4LeafClovers - yay! welcome new reader :D please tell all you friends.

RedAndGold4LeafClovers - just like romeo and juliet... ahahaha. no! ahem the whole point of rj in the play was to trivialise the tragic tormented forbidden-ness of their love. clearly it didnt work so hermione and draco just pounced on each other. coughs but i love romeo and juliet. i dont care what anyone says. it is romantic, and it is lovely. yes, no doubt i'll slap harry and ron in there somewhere. seriously though, there shall be a plot. and harry's a whiner.

Thallion - my favourite reviewer! glomps (i've always wanted to use that word!)

Xia Sarrasri - wow, you are acutally online! alert the press! :P thank you dearie, coming from you it means an awful lot :D

PinkTribeChick - yes they did. and they shall again! once i remove mr. malfoy from my closet o' love. whistles

Xia - snerf better than you?!!

citcat299 - thank you indeed :D alas, I am horrible at grammar. beta, beta, anyone?

Xia Sarrasri my dear, I'm glad you like it and I shall continue! just for you :)

potts - they seemed pretty cosy to me ;)

Medea Callous - thank you

Medea Callous - a bit of both really, but I'll be damned if I'm going to write a Draco-loo scene.


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